





















ft* 



x:s»!-..-rr;;--* 



\<n\ 



UK.., ^, 
















fits ,rw'«^*'^ •• tj^ii % "ii^^j. .\ i' >- u 



WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 



What Tolstoy Taught 



'-vq/^^ 






EDITED BY 

BOLTON HALL 

AUTHOR OF 
THREE ACRES AND LIBERTY." ETC. 



NEW YORK 
B. W. HUEBSCH 

1911 



Copyright 1911, by ^ X) ^ 

B. W. HUEBSCH \^ 



PRINTED IN U. S. A. 

©CU303665 



TOLSTOY; 



INTRODUCTION 

Anyone may reject Count Tolstoy's teaching: 
no one can Ignore it; his doctrine Is dynamic, revo- 
lutionary, fatal If false, a message of peace if true. 
It has made a profound Impression upon the world, 
and It would therefore behoove us at least to know 
exactly what that doctrine is. It is strange that, 
notwithstanding his great popularity and great in- 
fluence upon thought and feeling. Indirect as well 
as direct, there is no book written by which we can 
show plain people just what he does teach. I have 
long been a student of Tolstoy, but only in writing 
this book did I see, myself, all that Tolstoy taught. 

Most persons want to get a clear impression of 
the matured views of the Prophets, not of how 
they developed, changed and were often recanted. 
Many of the apparent contradictions that confuse 
us in the doctrines of the great are simply ques- 
tions of time, and are due to expression of opinions 
afterwards changed, under the influence of the 
changing experiences of their authors. Tolstoy 
wrote to Rahmanoff in 1891 : " Do not imagine 
that I defend the point of view I formerly ex- 

5 



6 INTRODUCTION 

pressed In What do I Believe? ^^ (published In 
1884) referring, apparently, to his remark that 
" It Is Impossible to love one's enemies." " I not 
only do not defend It, but am glad to have outlived 
It." He rewrote all his books, revising and 
changing again and again. 

There are several lives of Tolstoy, among the 
best of which are Blrukof's, a very extensive work, 
and Aylmer Maude's Life In two thick volumes. 

Maude's account of Tolstoy's doctrine Is excel- 
lent and shows Its progressive character, but it Is 
voluminous. The book Is rather costly and Is 
somewhat marred, as It seems to me, by Maude's 
own Intelligent, but conventional and equally volu- 
minous criticisms of Tolstoy's thought. 

Some others of these " Lives " contain short re- 
views of his doctrine; but most persons, however 
well educated, can gather from them but the 
vaguest notions of what he did say and of why 
he lived as he did. Consequently he is regarded 
by many, just as Jesus Is, as an amiable idealist, 
wholly Illogical and Impracticable, who preached 
a gospel that no one can follow. Readers think 
that he was an original but eccentric and incon- 
sistent teacher. As Tolstoy points out, the learned 
Jews, who were the contemporaries of Jesus, had 
a very similar Idea of his teachings. Tolstoy and 
Jesus are regarded as impractical for the same 



INTRODUCTION 7 

reason,' that each states the same doctrine, which 
men do not wish to practice and have therefore 
misinterpreted and perverted. 

Tolstoy says that the precepts of Jesus have been 
misconstrued by us because we do not wish to 
understand them. — (M. R., 147.) He says, " If 
however we take the words of Jesus as we would 
take the words of anyone who speaks to us and 
admit that he says exactly what he does say, all 
these profound circumlocutions vanish away." 

It would be unfortunate If Tolstoy's own writ- 
ings met the same difficulty notwithstanding his 
plain writing and tediously careful repetitions. 
Therefore, I have taken Tolstoy's very words, 
" as we would take the words of anyone who 
speaks to us," In order to set forth his doctrine 
truly. 

This doctrine Is In short that for a man always 
to substitute love for all compulsion would solve 
his harassing perplexities and abolish for him the 
horrors and the unreasonable complexities of life. 

Tolstoy approved of my account of his book 
On Life as originally published, and, since his voice 
Is stilled, I have added from his other writings 
only his own words to amplify and complete that 
Summary of his Message. 

I believe that this volume contains the substance 
of everything that Tolstoy taught. I have not 



8 INTRODUCTION 

attempted to give the lessons of his works of fic- 
tion, because those are of the nature of parables, 
and from a parable each person learns only what 
he is ready to receive. Accordingly, comments on 
those could be only interpretations, not expositions. 
Tolstoy's fiction but popularizes or illustrates the 
doctrine of what he regarded as his only important 
works, but which, in comparison to his wonderful 
fiction, are hardly read at all. 

The late Ernest Crosby first directed me to Tol- 
stoy's book On Life, saying that much as he ad- 
mired it, he had ceased to call general attention to 
it, because he found that people would not and 
could not read it; and even the French version 
wearied those who might be expected to enjoy the 
elegant French for its own sake. 

It is not wonderful then that there is so little 
clear understanding of Tolstoy because, unlike his 
novels, all his religious books are, I regret to say, 
quite unreadable. The style is involved, the mat- 
ter is lacking in order, filled with tedious repetition 
and written for those only who want to under- 
stand; but when the ideas are combed out of his 
tangle of words, they prove to be sharp-cut and to 
fit one another. 

The extracts from My Confession, My Reli- 
gion, and What To Do (all of which are so 
marked), read by themselves, form good abstracts 



INTRODUCTION 9 

of those books, and, read In connection with the 
summary of his philosophy, give a clear view of 
his whole religious teaching. 

The book What is Art?, a most entertaining 
work, not only expresses his views on this vexed 
question, but helps to clear the atmosphere for any 
who earnestly seek to answer that question in its 
relation to real life. 

One of the most significant and revolutionary 
of Tolstoy's reforms consisted in the school he con- 
ducted for the children on his estate. It was on 
the model of our present Ferrer Schools: in it he 
worked out many of the problems of his own rela- 
tion to hfe that had not been clear to him before. 
The quotations given here convey Tolstoy's gen- 
eral idea of education. 

What to Do, written in 1882, is the practical 
summing up of Tolstoy's teaching, the summing 
up of what set him to make shoes and to produce 
with his hands, not in order to earn his own living, 
which Tolstoy never pretended to do, but to pro- 
duce at least so much of what people need as would 
convince him that " I give people more than I 
take from them . . . and . . . that their account 
with me does not land them in a loss." He 
worked because he felt that it is not enough to feel 
love or to teach love by lip words. 

As he himself expressed it: " It is not enough 



lo INTRODUCTION 

to tend a man, to feed and teach him Greek; we 
must teach the man how to hve, — that is, to take 
as little as possible from others, and to give as 
much as possible ; and we cannot help teaching him 
to do the contrary, if we take him into our houses, 
or into an institution founded for this purpose." — 
{W. D., 70.) We must express genuine love by 
" getting off the backs of the poor " (M. L., 476) , 
by becoming producers instead of parasites. 

In reading Tolstoy's sweeping assertions we 
must remember, I think, that in order to force a 
new doctrine into public attention it is necessary, 
as Garrison knew, for a preacher of it to state it 
broadly and without qualification. This was the 
method of Jesus also: for example, it cannot be 
that all those Scribes and Pharisees were nothing 
but " hypocrites." To straighten a steel bar, wc 
must bend it in the opposite direction. 

Had Garrison said merely that Slavery was an 
outgrown institution that ought to be thrown off; 
or had the early Temperance reformers said only 
that liquor drinking was a needless and injurious 
habit, people would have said, " Yes, that is prob- 
ably true; we must modify these things and eventu- 
ally get rid of them," and would have gone on to 
talk to the reformers about the weather. But 
when Garrison said that the Constitution that sane- 



INTRODUCTION ii 

tloned Slavery was " a covenant with death and an 
agreement with hell," and the Prohibitionists told 
us about " the Demon Rum " they got attention 
and consideration. 

It is necessary, it seems to me, to state a great 
truth in large and emphatic terms if it is to be 
heard at all. This Tolstoy did whether he spoke 
of Religion, Teaching, Literature, Art, Govern- 
ment or Land-owning. He admitted, says Maude, 
that " sometimes he strained the meaning in a con- 
trary direction. He compares his task to that of 
a man who has to demagnetize a steel bar by ex- 
posing it to an opposite influence." — (M. L., 53). 

Truth may need to be overstated, but plenty of 
persons who believe in overstatement, will be found 
to overstate it. Maybe to do so is the office 
of the prophet — but that is no reason why we 
who see the true proportion of things, should ex- 
aggerate, much less a reason why we should reject 
all the statements of the prophet. If then we 
find in Tolstoy ideas that seem to us unreasonable, 
why so we did in all the Prophets. But if they 
really are unreasonable, we need not eat the pit 
with the peach. 

I think that Tolstoy, like Henry George and 
many another Master, did not realize the far- 
reaching conclusion to be deduced from his own 



12 INTRODUCTION 

premises. Tolstoy teaches the Oneness of Men, 
but seems often to overlook the fact that this One- 
ness makes it impossible for any man to do right 
by himself. Each must, however unwillingly, take 
some part in the " sins " of all the rest. 

For example, D. Merejkowsky, a Russian biog- 
rapher (in his Tolstoy as Man and Artist)^ finds 
much fault with Tolstoy himself because he ap- 
pears inconsistent in that he " ceased to make use 
of his property " " except for the fact that he re- 
mained under the roof of Yasnaia." 

Why should he do otherwise ? To live in a hut 
next door to his family, and to prepare his separate 
food, would have been only to add an additional 
expense to the family budget. To separate him- 
self entirely from his family would have been 
merely to sacrifice more of his own time and of 
theirs in getting the necessary living and to estab- 
lish a still less normal life at the cost of much pain 
to them and to him. He did all that he could by 
insisting on actually producing, by such means as 
seemed most natural, as much as he consumed. 

Nor was it possible for him, any more than for 
the rest of us, to make a right disposition of his 
land or of the revenues from it. To give it to the 
State under present conditions would be merely to 
add to the wealth and power of an Institution of 
which he did not approve, and to induce new State 



INTRODUCTION 13 

extravagance, or to lighten the burden of those 
who support that Institution. 

To present the land to the tenants would be 
merely to create numerous small landlords, who 
would be more effective in sanctioning landlordism 
than one big landlord. This is what the English 
Tories have striven to do for Ireland by govern- 
ment Land Purchase, and the Allotment Acts. 

Under present conditions everyone must be 
either a nomad, a tenant, or a land owner : there Is 
no escape. The tenant Is as much a sustalner of 
the land system as the land owner: for if no one 
would pay rent, if men could find a way to live 
without paying rent directly or indirectly to pri- 
vate persons, it would be as fatal to the land sys- 
tem as if no one would collect rent. 

Tolstoy, like Thoreau, made the best attempt 
he could to live according to his ideals, and no 
one can read What To Do without seeing how 
sadly unsatisfactory the result was to him and even 
to those who most sympathize with him and admire 
him and his ardor and sincerity. 

But these are only my own opinions. This book 
gives Tolstoy's opinions, and his reasons for them, 
in his own words. 

The Count wrote to me the following endorse- 
ment of a draft of the first part of this book On 
Life: 



14 INTRODUCTION 

Dear Sir: 

I have received your book and have read it. I think it 
is very good and renders in a concise form quite truly 
the chief ideas of my book; I hope that this book in this 
new form will be useful in the sense in which I intended 
it to be to a larger public than the original. 

With my best thanks and wishes for the success of your 
book, I am, dear sir, 

Yours truly, 

(Signed) Leo Tolstoy. 
2 1st March, 1897. 

No idea has been added to the text or modified 
since that letter was written. The ideas have only 
been elaborated in order that they may be plain and 
clear; that they are rightly elaborated Is clear from 
their agreement with the extracts from Tolstoy's 
other books, which, arranged, as far as may be, in 
logical order, form the second part of this volume. 

Lest the reader should suspect that I have per- 
haps softened Tolstoy's dogmatic and unqualified 
assertions, or arranged his words so as to convey 
my own thought, I should say that there is much 
in Tolstoy's writings that I cannot agree with. I 
recognize that It may well be that he sees much 
deeper than I. Those who care for my own views 
will find them In my Life and Love and Peace, for 
the basis of most of which I am indebted to this 
great Teacher. 



INTRODUCTION 15 

It may be that it is given to me to help to carry 
on Tolstoy's great work, in some measure to ex- 
tend the influence of his writings and of his life, 
and so to help to balance the account with his fel- 
low-men that he thought, even up to his death, to 
be so sorely against him. 

Bolton Hall. 



CONTENTS 



PART I 
ON LIFE 

CHAPTEA VAGI 

I The Separate Life 23 

II Delusions about Life 29 

III Attempts to Explain Life ... 36 

IV The Search for Truth .... 43 
V The True Law of Life .... 48 

VI The Good of Life 54 

VII The Life Universal 62 

VIII Desire 69 

IX Unity of Our Lives 75 

X The Dual Nature 81 

XI The Selfish Love 87 

XII Animal Love 93 

XIII Real Love 98 

XIV Love's Sacrifice 104 

XV Life is Love 109 

XVI The Pursuit of Happiness . . .115 

XVII The Fear of Death 120 

XVIII Life Everlasting 126 

XIX The Terror from Ignorance . .133 

XX Spiritual Life .138 



i8 



CONTENTS 



XXI The Real Life 143 

XXII The Use of Pain 149 

XXIII The Balm for Suffering . . . 155 

PART II 
ON ACTION 



I Problems 163 

II Religion 171 

III The Church 180 

IV The School 184 

V Art 192 

VI Science 205 

VII What, then, Must We Do? . . .213 

VIII Women and Men 222 

IX Alcohol and Tobacco . . . .231 

X Government 235 

XI A Great Iniquity 241 

XII Human Rights 269 

Index 277 



REFERENCES 

The following abbreviations are used in citations of 
Tolstoy's works so as not unnecessarily to break the con- 
nection of the text: 

C. R. — ' Cycle of Readings, (Dana Estes & Co.) 

M. L. — Life of Tolstoy. (When not marked V. I, ci- 
tations are from Vol. II) by Aylmer Maude. 
(Dodd Mead & Co., 1910.) 

M. R.— My Religion, (Crowell & Co., 1899.) Some 
editions are entitled, What I Believe, Although cit- 
ing from the later edition, I have often used clearer 
phraseology from Huntington Smith's translation 
from the French ed. of 1885, or from others. 

M. C—My Confession, (Crowell, 1887.) 

S. C. T. — Spirit of Christ's Teachings. (Dana Estes & 
Co.) Some editions are entitled. Summary of 
Christ* s Teachings, 

T. S. M. — Tolstoy as a Schoolmaster. By Ernest 
Crosby. (A. C. Fifield, London.) 

E. S. — Tolstoy on Shakespeare. (Funk & Wagnalls.) 
Also entitled, Essay on Shakespeare. 

W. A.— What is Art? (Crowell, 1899.) 

W. D.— What to Do. ( Crowell, 1887.) Some editions 
entitled. What, Then, Must We Do? 
For other books occasionally cited, the full name is 

given ; also page, except where the book is very small. 

19 



PART I 
ON LIFE 



On Life, carelessly printed in Geneva 
or copied from the rough manuscript, re- 
quires much critical acumen on the part 
of its readers to grasp its full meaning. 
. . . We have as yet, I think, no sat- 
isfactory translation; but Bolton Hall 
without knowing Russian, puzzled out 
the meaning of the book and has written 
a free paraphrase giving its essence very 
well."— (M. L., 523.) 



CHAPTER I 

THE SEPARATE LIFE 

Life contains the true and the false, and whether 
it means much to us or little depends upon whether 
the true seems false to us and the false true, or 
whether we know things as they are. 

You and I live for our own good; that is, we 
have for our main object in life what we think 
will benefit us individually. All of us seek the 
conditions that we think will make us happy, and 
this we do instinctively. It is impossible for us 
to imagine life without the desire for happiness. 
Sometimes the desired benefit is direct, sometimes 
indirect, but it is for ourselves. You do not live 
for the sole purpose of securing good for me, nor 
do I live with no other aim than your good. If 
we examine our thoughts we find that the desire 
for personal happiness is the motive of all we do; 
without this desire there would be nothing in our 
lives that is there now. Everything we do is done 
consciously or unconsciously to increase the sum of 
our happiness. 

If we look about us, as well as within, we shall 
23 



24 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

find that other persons live like ourselves for their 
own particular good, and seek what they, too, 
think will bring happiness to themselves. When 
considering any course of action, they ask them- 
selves the one question — "Will this be good for 
me?" If they see the thing clearly as good for 
them, their decision is quickly made. 

Their idea of good for them is simply the grati- 
fication of their own desires, no matter what those 
desires may be. " I want this '' seems to them a 
sufficient reason for taking it, unless the conse- 
quences that they can see are disastrous. They 
cannot conceive of disappointment or hindrance as 
other than a sorrow, something " bad " for them. 
So, even though they may see also that their grati- 
fication may be bad for you and for me, in that 
it may prevent us getting what we desire, yet they 
do not hesitate. They believe that this good of 
theirs requires the sacrifice of your good and mine. 

This is the separate. Individual Idea of life; the 
idea that regards each living creature as separate 
and distinct from every other living creature, and 
as necessarily antagonistic to others. It is this con- 
ception of life that, for the sake of their petty 
happiness, their own personal good, makes living 
beings willing to deprive other beings of greater 
happiness and even of life itself. In consequence 
of this separate feeling each one is always contend- 



THE SEPARATE LIFE 25 

ing against hosts of others. We make Ishmaels of 
ourselves, with our hand against every man, and 
every man's hand against us. 

Under these conditions it is impossible that we 
should get any other idea of life than that we have 
individual interests separate from the interests of 
those about us and conflicting with them. So thor- 
oughly does this idea pervade our beliefs, that we 
speak of even the devotion of a mother to her child 
as a " sacrifice " of her interests for those of the 
child. Yet if we only consider this view we must 
see how false it is. How could a mother sacrifice 
her " interests " to those of her child when, if 
properly understood, they are one and the same? 
She may be mistaken in what really is the child's 
interest, and all her devotion may result in injuring 
It, or at least In delaying its development, but the 
fact of her unfailing devotion Is Itself the best 
proof that she could conceive of no real Interests 
for herself apart from those of her child. 

So long as we think the false life Is true life, 
just so long will continue the struggle, to which 
hfe Is always likened. And at the end of It all 
we see Death, which we believe to be the loss of 
consciousness, or at best a change to a spirit life. 
Our conception of the spirit life Is so at variance 
with what we think of this life, that we cannot 
reconcile the two, and so this change seems to us a 



26 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

strange and terrible transformation. To contem- 
plate it deprives us of joy and comfort. Although 
we feel compelled to continue the struggle, the in- 
evitable end of it all fills us with terror or loathing, 
which no immediate success can materially mitigate. 

For, though we succeed from day to day in the 
struggle for that which we think good for us, we 
feel that the good we seek will be incomplete, even 
if it were to last; we know this from our past 
experience. Everything that we have secured by 
struggle has given us less happiness than we had 
hoped for; indeed, many times it has brought us 
only pain, and we have regretted our success. 
Furthermore, If it has fulfilled our desire, even then 
It has not satisfied us. We have learned that the 
fulfillment of one desire but creates fresh desires 
which in their turn clamor for satisfaction; but 
we also know that the good we seek will not last, 
that It will be but for a moment In our hands. 
Whether we are willing to understand or not, life 
shows us on every plane that *' this, too, shall pass 
away." At the least, the form of the good will 
change, so that we shall not recognize it. 

Holding the false view of life, and feeling only 
our own desires, we Imagine that the personal good, 
for which we live, and true happiness are one and 
the same. But we shall find, if we go on, that 
this Is a mistake; we do not secure true happiness 



THE SEPARATE LIFE 27 

to ourselves even though we are able to grasp all 
that seems good to us In our struggle with others. 

True happiness cannot consist in seeking our 
own good. Sooner or later we all learn that. 
When it is first borne In upon us, we try to make a 
bargain with life. Still having in view our own 
happiness, we attempt to secure it by efforts to do 
good to others which we hope to exchange for 
their efforts to do good to us. But happiness is not 
to be secured through trading, however unconscious 
It may be; happiness cannot be won through 
barter; It is not for sale or exchange In the world's 
market. 

Nor IS this selfish attitude really natural; on 
the contrary, the desire for the happiness of others 
IS natural to the uncorrupted man. He willingly 
subordinates his personal desires to the good of 
others, and will sacrifice his separate Interests to 
that unselfish aim as readily and naturally as an 
animal will sacrifice its life In defense of Its young. 

All great religious teachers have taught this gos- 
pel; we recognize its truth, and are inspired to 
better things by its ennobling force. Yet in the 
early movement for a scientific interpretation of 
life and its phenomena, " scientific '' men like Her- 
bert Spencer were led to deny this doctrine, and to 
assert that the object of life Is simply the satisfac- 
tion of desires. 



28 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

But the teachers of creeds and superstitions, 
while rejecting the materialistic conclusions of sci- 
ence, offered no more satisfying view of life than 
did the scientists. Their idea of the plan of life 
made it scarcely worth enduring, because of its 
failure to secure happiness here. They, however, 
held out the hope of a satisfactory amendment of 
this worthless plan, in a life beyond the grave for 
those who accepted their teachings. They did not 
see that a life carried out on the same principles as 
this present life, could not bring happiness, no 
matter how perfectly operated. Indeed, the more 
perfect its operation the less probability would 
there be for true happiness. 



CHAPTER II 

DELUSIONS ABOUT LIFE 

What is life, and what Is the good In life that 
will give us happiness? This Is the question that 
ever presses for an answer, yet remains unanswered. 
Our days pass but we find no satisfactory answer 
in ourselves, for our false view of life precludes 
the possibility of a satisfactory answer. It Is as 
though while seeking to see the delicate flush of 
early dawn, we sought to enhance our vision by 
looking through smoked glasses. 

The tender, gentle gradations of color would 
be lost to us, and if we had never looked upon the 
dawn with clear vision, we would surely say that 
no delicate colors graced the rising of the sun. So 
it is with us when we try to discern the meaning of 
life, and to discover the good it holds. That false 
view of life which makes us think we have separate 
interests and desires that must be gratified at any 
cost obscures our mental and spiritual vision, and 
prevents us seeing the dawning beauty of life. 

Finding no satisfaction within, we think that 
someone else must know the secret of the good in 

29 



30 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

life, and so we follow after another, listening with 
itching ears for what he has to say, and following 
with blind groping hands the way he treads. And 
still we find neither happiness nor peace, though 
ever in quest of them. 

The modern God is Science, and when we appeal 
to it, its interpreters answer that life is the strug- 
gle of persons, races, and species for existence, and 
that the good of life is success in that struggle, 
" the highest exercise of faculty." These inter- 
preters are the Scribes of modern days, and iheir 
answers are not intended to be understood ^if'the 
people. /' 

The answers are not satisfactory, because they 
cannot be understood. He who has come to the 
stage where he asks " What is life and its good? '' 
knows that the scientist has not answered right. 
It is true that men have so far manifested life 
through struggle; as individuals, as races, as spe- 
cies, men have contended with each other and he 
who was strong enough to prevail was he who main- 
tained existence. We know, too, that through that 
cruel and selfish struggle men have developed quali- 
ties that should enable them to make mere existence 
better and higher from age to age ; in this struggle, 
then, say the Scientists, life consists. But admit- 
ting this struggle for existence, the thoughtful man 
feels that while it may be a stage through which 



DELUSIONS ABOUT LIFE 31 

man must pass, the harassing struggle cannot be 
its object. He knows there must be a higher ex- 
ercise of faculty than mere struggle. He finds all 
nature working in harmony with law. The stars 
and planets circle in their respective orbits without 
strife, one against the other. Is man's life less 
harmonious than theirs? He cannot believe it. 

Unsatisfied by the answers of the votaries of ma- 
terial science, men turn to the ecclesiastical teachers 
in the hope of finding what they seek. These are 
the Pharisees of to-day, and they answer that hap- 
piness or good consists only in the hope of a future 
life. For, say they, we know there Is not, and 
never can be, good in this life. And having said 
this, they proceed to prove it by accepting in fact 
the dictum of the scientist that life here is merely a 
struggle for existence. They protest against such 
a view in words, but they accept it in fact, adding 
only that this struggle is the way by which we shall 
enter another life which shall gratify all our per- 
sonal desires. As opposed to the personal life, 
Jesus taught us, not of a life beyond the grave, but 
of that universal life which comprises within itself 
the life of humanity, past, present, and to come. — 

(^.2?, 194.) 

The time has already come when it is clear to all 
who will consider It, that the idea of renouncing 
this life for the sake of preparing for a life for 



32 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

one's self beyond, is a delusion. It Is so illogical 
that It cannot be clearly expressed, for even though 
this life were given us only that we might pre- 
pare for another, it would be no less necessary 
that we should understand this life. On the con- 
trary, it would be even more necessary to under- 
stand it, since the only possible purpose for us in 
a life beyond this would be that we had progressed 
so far that we needed a larger outlet for the " ex- 
ercise of faculty." 

Renouncing this life with all it may contain will 
not of itself fit us for a larger life. 

What would we think of the man who wished 
to be an expert mathematician, and, knowing noth- 
ing of the possible combinations of figures, yet 
scorned to study the multiplication table? If he 
said, " I do not know this, but it cannot mean any- 
thing compared with those elaborate operations 
men perform in ' advanced mathematics,' therefore 
I will not waste time studying it " — we should call 
him a fool, and remind him that all knowledge was 
progressive, and that he must know the funda- 
mentals of mathematics before he could perform 
abstruse calculations. 

So, even if we were sure of a life beyond, as sure 
as we are that we now have life here, it would 
still be necessary that we understand this hfe before 
we could understand the next. We get to under- 



DELUSIONS ABOUT LIFE 33 

stand anything only by studying the laws that gov- 
ern It, and conforming our relations toward It to 
those laws. 

To renounce our present life In the hope of gain- 
ing more life beyond, without understanding either 
life, is equally to delude ourselves. 

But It is no Improvement upon that plan to argue 
that It Is good for us to live for ourselves in the 
present. To do this is as though one should ap- 
proach the solution of the control of nature's forces 
with a cut-and-dried theory of how It was to be 
done, based upon nothing surer than guess-work. 
We cannot know what is good for us in our present 
life, until we have first studied that life, and Its 
relation to the all-life. 

Our experience early teaches us that our indi- 
vidual life, used in a selfish way, is evil and sense- 
less. Even the small child learns this much from 
his relations with his fellows. If he wants the 
utmost enjoyment from his daily life with his peers, 
he will not seek only his seeming Individual good 
at the expense of his fellows. Though he be 
strong enough to enforce his will, and to secure 
his selfish aims, his success will be robbed of all 
that would have made It taste good. He is so 
constituted, being man in embryo, that he cannot 
fully enjoy success If those about him do not re- 
joice In It also. The youngest child who has thus 



34 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

gained his ends has found the fruits of his victory 
crumble to ashes in his hands. 

We, who are merely children of larger growth, 
soon come to regard a life spent in this way as evil 
and senseless. There is nothing about it that 
causes rejoicing either to us or to our friends. 
We feel that we should use our life for a different 
purpose. 

But it is no more satisfactory to live for one's 
family, for society, for one's country or even for 
mankind. We can all recall the " failures " 
among our friends, who were no greater failures 
when living for themselves than when living for 
their families. In the one case they were shut- 
ting themselves out from the true understanding 
of life, and in the other they were cutting off 
the family from any understanding. 

To live for one's country, for society or even 
for all mankind is but another way of trying to 
trade off the good we do to others for the good 
they may do to us. It is the old idea of barter or 
exchange, a transaction in the market-place, where 
happiness abides not. 

Besides, if living for oneself shows us that the 
life of the individual is miserable and senseless, it 
will show the life of any collection of individuals 
to be no less miserable or senseless. If each com- 
ponent part of any mass is corrupt and bad, we 



DELUSIONS ABOUT LIFE 35 

shall not make a desirable or beautiful thing sim- 
ply by uniting those component parts in one whole. 
If, however, each part has its use, and we under- 
stand what that use is, we may by uniting them 
create a thing of joy and beauty. So it is with 
the life of the mass. If each life making up the 
mass is beautiful, and its purpose understood, then 
will the mass be beautiful. But If we find each 
Individual life senseless and miserable, the mass 
will be no more worthy of sacrifice than are the 
individuals which compose it. 



CHAPTER III 

ATTEMPTS TO EXPLAIN LIFE 

We believe that life consists of a desire for 
happiness for ourselves and for those about us, 
but at the same time we feel that evil and death 
will come to all. For centuries men have gone 
on believing and feeling this, living out their time 
in the vain attempt to reconcile or to overlook 
this contradiction. It was the hopelessness of this 
attempt which led to the theory that in another 
life beyond this we should find the happiness we 
miss or seek so unsuccessfully here. 

Admitting the proposition that life consisted of 
desires that could not possibly be gratified, that 
were in the nature of things foredoomed to dis- 
appointment and destruction, a thinking man must 
reach one of two conclusions or else sink under his 
despair. 

The more pleasing conclusion was that the ful- 
fillment of desire was not denied, but merely de- 
layed, to be attained in another life. To the 
teachers of this doctrine men have said, *' But 
how? " and out of this spontaneous question grew 

36 



I 



ATTEMPTS TO EXPLAIN LIFE 37 

creeds, forms, ceremonies and all the observances 
of ecclesiastlcism. The great mass of men ac- 
cepted this gladly. 

We have learned that, being here, we must live, 
and, the object of hfe being happiness, we must 
live for that. But circumstances make it Impossi- 
ble for us to secure a life of perfect animal happi- 
ness. Knowing no other life than this animal life, 
and appreciating no other, we find ourselves at 
strife with ourselves; this strife In its essence Is 
interminable and brings us only misery. 

We compare our lives with those of the Insects 
and beasts, which, apparently untroubled by specu- 
lations as to what their life should be, submit them- 
selves to the law of their being, and live a joyous 
and tranquil life. We begin to suspect that what 
we have thought about life and its desires is not 
right, and again the Inner strife rages. We feel 
we must find a solution of it all, and we grasp 
eagerly at the hope of another life that will solve 
all the problems of this. We conclude that the 
problems will continue, and the conditions be simi- 
lar; but that through some mysterious change In 
ourselves, gained only through the death of the 
body, we shall learn to understand and to recon- 
cile the irreconcilable. 

The other possible conclusion is to deny the 
worth of Individual existence. Life Is not in- 



38 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

tended for the individual at all. All his struggle 
here is not that he may attain happiness now or 
hereafter, but that he may perpetuate and improve 
the race, the species. To what end none may say, 
for no ultimate goal is pictured save the coldly un- 
satisfying one of improvement of the species. It 
apparently offers man the opportunity to forget 
the individual self with its insignificant desires and 
attainments in the tremendous possibilities and 
achievements of that aggregate self called the race. 

And to some this theory comes as a new gospel 
which they hear gladly, forgetting that if our in- 
dividual life be worthless and insignificant, the ag- 
gregate of such lives cannot be any more valuable. 
To multiply zero by millions still gives zero. 

Neither of these solutions of man'^ life satis- 
fies us permanently. When we look about us we 
find that we are surrounded by conditions and cir- 
cumstances that make a perfect life an impossi- 
bility — that is, the sort of perfect life which un- 
reasoning feeling demands. Few can become so 
absorbed in a future life, or so satisfied with the 
improvement of the species, as to cease desiring 
happiness and peace now. 

Seeking two objects when It Is possible to attain 
only one inevitably produces that struggle which is 
the cause of most of our unhappiness, and creates 
In thinking minds restlessness in regard to the 



ATTEMPTS TO EXPLAIN LIFE 39 

mysteries of life. This struggle and its attendant 
miseries, this restlessness and its unsatisfying specu- 
lations pervade the whole of our life here, and are 
as apparent in our social and industrial relations 
to our fellow-men as in our own inharmonious in- 
dividual life. They can be removed only by will- 
ingly subjecting ourselves to the law of our higher 
being. 

Our difficulty arises from confusing our animal 
life with our true life — that is, with the spiritual 
life. We are conscious of both these existences, 
but we have not learned to reconcile them. The 
natural life we know by the feeling that we exist. 
This is a consciousness of our mere physical being 
which awakes early even in the helpless, unthink- 
ing infant, and remains with us to the end of con- 
scious experience here. 

The spiritual life we know by the feeling that 
we love — a feeling separate from the recognition 
of mere physical existence. First comes the recog- 
nition " I am," the feeling that makes us pursue 
our selfish personal desires; after that comes the 
knowledge " I love," the feeling that makes us 
seek our brother and endeavor to understand him 
too. 

We therefore feel that there are two contra- 
dictory natures In us, the one urging us to selfish 
gratification as the end of life; the other recogniz- 



40 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

ing the claim of our brothers. Which shall pre- 
vail? We know all the time that there can be 
only one true life, but we cannot decide which it 
is. The inclination of that which we recognize 
when we say " I am," is sometimes one way, some- 
times another. 

This seeming contradiction in ourselves recalls 
the sensation of one who, crooking two fingers, 
one over the other, rolls a little ball between them, 
and feels as if there were two balls, but knows that 
there is only one. 

The renunciation of personal happiness for life 
according to the higher nature, is as natural to 
man as flying is natural to a bird. With all our 
struggle we do not see this: indeed it is the very 
dust of the conflict that blinds our eyes to this 
truth. We conceive of ourselves as beings ab- 
sorbed in personal aims only, and we think renunci- 
ation of self unnatural. But if the bird wills only 
to run, that does not prove that it is not its nature 
to fly. So if we see about us men with unawak- 
ened minds, men who think their lives consist in 
securing their own happiness — even though we 
ourselves may be of that number — it is not 
thereby proved that there is no higher life. 

To seek for our good in gratification of personal 
desires only is to make ourselves like an animal 
that might think that its life consists in conform- 



ATTEMPTS TO EXPLAIN LIFE 41 

ing to the laws of gravity by not moving, although 
constantly fretted by appetite and by the desire 
for exercise. But no animal is so stupid as not to 
conform to the whole law of its being, which 
necessarily includes movement and rest. 

So man is fretted by the desire for the fulfill- 
ment of the higher nature when once he has real- 
ized it, If he attempts to hold himself to the pur- 
suit of personal happiness. Every man who 
thinks Is subject to this dissatisfaction, and seeks 
an explanation for it In the thinking. We say 
*' thought is pain'*; and almost everyone thinks 
to himself, " I am a strange mixture." 

But even this admission of the fact that he has 
two natures which seem to be engaged in strife 
does not aid him in his never-ending search for 
happiness. The dissatisfaction can only be es- 
caped, the painful search ended, by following one 
of two courses. We must either live a purely 
animal existence as embodied in the feeling " I 
am " and ignore that other feeling " I love," or 
else we must renounce the selfish aim, and seek only 
the new and better life. 

There is no other alternative, as life shows us 
both the life we know in ourselves and the life we 
see manifested in others. To try to live accord- 
ing to both natures is to fail to live in harmony 
with either, and there is no unhapplness so acute, 



42 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

so far-reaching as the unhappiness of disharmony. 
The attempt to reconcile the Irreconcilable Is 
fraught with pain and disaster. One of the two 
natures must be renounced if life is to mean any- 
thing truly desirable or harmonious. 



CHAPTER IV 

THE SEARCH FOR TRUTH 

Most men rake In the muck, and some never 
look up from their muck; they see nothing of the 
overhead wonders and cannot conceive of them. 
But if once we see a glimpse of the better life, 
even though but a reflection of the light shed by 
those who live the true life, we can never again 
satisfy ourselves with the worse or lower life. 

We understand life so little that we spend our 
time consciously striving for that which should be 
attained as unconsciously as is digestion, while the 
things which we should strive for consciously are 
either unknown to us or else disregarded by us. 

The only guide we have to a true life Is the 
higher reason which the Bible calls Wisdom 
(logos). 

Learned men consider the Insignificant teach- 
ings of Aristotle, Bacon, Comte and a few others 
true because they are accepted and understood by 
so few, and because they do not control the masses 
and are therefore not corrupted by superstition. 
As though the higher life could be attained only 

43 



44 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

by a select few! The same learned men regard 
the teachings of Buddha, of Zoroaster, Lao-tsze, 
Confucius and Jesus, which in their essence are 
one, as superstitions, merely because those teach- 
ings have appealed to the masses, and have changed 
millions of lives. 

They forget that the unity of these teachings, so 
widely separated by time and space. Is the strong- 
est possible proof of their truth. What Is the 
essence of these teachings presented In varying de- 
grees of perfection? It is that the life Is more 
than flesh — the very sum of all wisdom. It Is 
not that we have a soul In our bodies; but rather 
that the soul develops its life through our bodies. 

That this essential truth finds a response In the 
hearts of countless millions, to-day and for centu- 
ries past, goes to prove the oneness of man's life 
ever since he became conscious of life Itself. That 
we have progressed no farther than we have Is 
largely due to misdirected study and effort. 
Having caught this glimpse of truth, man has 
been compelled to seek it. Reason, the faculty 
we have called to our aid to discover something 
which Is over and above reason, has been directed 
toward the study of the origin and history of 
mankind, and to the circumstances by which man- 
kind is surrounded, In the hope of thereby dis- 
covering Truth. 



THE SEARCH FOR TRUTH 45 

Failing In our progress along this line, we have 
recently taken to studying the minds of men by the 
laws of matter, hoping thereby to discover the 
cause of man^s activity. 

These studies are interesting and Instructive. 
They reveal to us many things we might not other- 
wise learn; they may save us from errors and ex- 
periments that might Imperil our lives, but we can- 
not find the meaning of life from them. It would 
be as possible for a tree to learn the theory of col- 
lecting and distributing sap for the growth of the 
leaves and fruit, through study of the physical and 
chemical changes always taking place in it, as for 
man to discover the secret of true life through 
studying his mind by the laws of matter. 

All our knowledge of these laws will not af- 
ford us guidance In so simple a matter as what to 
do with the piece of bread In our hands. We shall 
not learn thereby whether to give the bread to our 
daughter, to a stranger, to the dog that eyes It 
hungrily, or to eat It ourselves; nor shall we thus 
learn whether to defend the bit of bread as our 
property against all-comers, or to yield it to the 
first person who demands it of us. The laws of 
matter do not shape our decision, nor enlighten us 
how to decide these things. Yet living Is entirely 
made up of such decisions. On these decisions 
happiness depends. 



46 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

Things at a distance seem simple because we can- 
not see the complexity of their details, and such 
things, therefore, attract our attention, while that 
which is close at hand appears complex. If we 
view a mountain from a distance we get no idea of 
the difficulties of scaling it. To us all the bowlders, 
chasms and perpendicular rocks are blended into 
one whole which seems comparatively smooth and 
easy to climb. It attracts us and makes us feel 
that it would be a pleasure to scale it, even while 
we hesitate to attempt the rough sides of a nearby 
peak of lesser height. We can see the difficulties 
of the hill near at hand, and we realize that it 
would be no easy task to reach the summit. 

So men think that they understand what happi- 
ness is, and what time and matter are, but they do 
not understand themselves. Accordingly, they 
ever seek happiness without finding it, and though 
they investigate and formulate the laws of matter, 
they do not thereby learn how to live. 

In the case of a mere animal, sound reason con- 
sists only in care for its physical well-being. The 
animal is not conscious of any needs or desires 
beyond the material ones, and in caring for and 
gratifying those it is fulfilling the law of its being. 
We understand the life of an animal, because we 
see in it, as in ourselves, a striving for happiness, 
and the necessity for it also to submit to reason. 



THE SEARCH FOR TRUTH 47 

The animal strives for happiness by fulfiUIng all 
the requirements of Its nature. Its own nature lies 
nearest to It, and It Is through living In accord- 
ance with It that the animal Is able to fill all the 
purposes of Its life. If man understood himself 
better, he would know that In a similar course lies 
happiness for him. For we really know things not 
In proportion to their simplicity, but In proportion 
to their nearness of association with us. 

Now the true life of man, the better part, which 
all may choose, Is found In that which is nearest to 
us, and therefore seems complicated, although It 
is really simple. 

Like the seemingly unsolvable abstract mathe- 
matical problem, which opens out Into a series of 
beautiful sequences as soon as one has found the 
key to the problem, so does the seemingly com- 
plicated problem of man's life. As soon as we 
recognize that the key to the mystery Is the con- 
trol of the animal life by enlightened reason, the 
mystery disappears, and in Its place we find the 
simple harmonies of the true life. 



CHAPTER V 

THE TRUE LAW OF LIFE 

To give up seeking our own happiness as ani- 
mals is the true law of the life of humanity. That 
is the thing that the animal nature of man does not 
see at all, and which the higher nature, so long 
held in thrall by the false view of life prevalent 
among men, does not fully realize immediately 
upon Its awakening. Like the man whose blind 
eyes were opened we see dimly " men as trees 
walking." Our bodily life, which we perceive be- 
cause it lies so near to us, seems so complicated and 
so full of needs, that we think the true object of 
life must be to fulfill the bodily demands. We 
spend our days in a vain effort to understand and 
to satisfy the animal nature, yet we are as far 
from happiness in the end as at the beginning. 

Reason shows us that the satisfaction of the 
animal nature is not, and cannot be, the true end 
of man's life. If It were, man would not need 
the qualities that mere animals do not possess. 
He would not be filled with doubts, cares and long- 
ings which the pursuit of animal happiness can 
neither destroy nor satisfy. 

48 



I 



THE TRUE LAW OF LIFE 49 

Robert Browning had this thought In mind when 
he wrote these lines: 

" Poor vaunt of life indeed, 
Were man but formed to feed 
On joy, to solely seek and find and feast; 
Such feasting ended, then 
As sure an end to men; 

Irks care the crop full bird? Frets doubt the 
maw-crammed beast? " 

We see that In the case of a mere animal any 
activity that is opposed to Its physical welfare is 
a renunciation or sacrifice of Its life. This is In- 
evitably so because its only life Is the animal life, 
and to oppose It Is so far to destroy It. Man has 
not only the animal life, but also a higher life, and 
so for him to renounce the satisfaction of animal 
desires does not mean destruction, rather just the 
reverse. It Is through losing or renouncing the 
animal life that man comes into the higher life. 
This Is the essence of Christ's meaning when he 
said, " He that loseth his life for my sake " — i. e., 
for the sake of my teachings concerning the higher 
life — " only the same shall find It." 

Besides, If we do not renounce the pursuit of 
animal happiness here and now while life is strong 
in us, and while we may choose which nature we 
shall serve, we must renounce It unwillingly at our 



so WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

deaths. We know, whatever our behefs may be 
concerning the future of man, that when the body 
dies it is no longer the vehicle of our personal 
consciousness. If life consist in the pursuit of 
animal happiness, then, when death compels us to 
renounce our physical life, all that we have sought 
ends in nothing. 

For, the body, with its occupations and func- 
tions, is merely one of the instruments of life, and 
not life itself. Life manifests itself in many forms 
in the kingdoms of nature, yet nowhere do we con- 
found the manifestation with life itself. The 
flower is not the life of the plant, any more than 
are the roots, the stem or the leaves — these are 
but the instruments through which plant life mani- 
fests itself, and when we have studied them in the 
light of all the natural laws man has yet dis- 
covered, we are as far as ever from knowing just 
what the life of the plant is which thus manifests 
itself through fulfillment of the laws of its own 
being. 

" Flower In the crannied wall, 
I pluck you out of the crannies, 
I hold you here, root and all, In my hand 
Little flower — but if I could understand 
What you are, root and all, and all In all, 
I should know what God and man Is." 

— (Tennyson.) 



THE TRUE LAW OF LIFE 51 

The animal exists through force and matter in 
harmony with their laws, and, because to the ani- 
mal that is all there is of life, he fulfills the law 
of his being by such existence. Man exists in the 
same way, but to him that animal existence is only 
an Incident of life, not the whole of it. It is 
because he fails to see this, and does not live 
according to his higher nature which is the ful- 
fillment of life, that he gets pain and disappoint- 
ment here. 

Renunciation of the chase after animal happi- 
ness is the true law of human life, and to try to live 
contrary to this Is to violate the law of our being 
and to bring about disharmony and suffering. 
Man, after he has once had a glimpse of his own 
higher nature, when once he has passed beyond 
the recognition of " I am '' and has felt " I love," 
may no longer be absorbed in the animal life with 
happiness or profit to himself. 

If he does not through submission to the higher 
reason, freely renounce this search for animal 
pleasure, then it will be renounced for him 
violently at the death of the flesh. When man 
subordinates his higher nature to the pursuit of 
animal gratifications he approaches the hour of 
physical dissolution called death so burdened by 
the consequence of his suffering and disappoint- 
ment, that he desires nothing but surcease from 



52 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

sorrow and the assurance of passing into another 
form of existence. 

The consciousness of his perishing personality, 
the ending of the life which has been everything 
to him, yet has never satisfied him, is torture to 
man, and he clings to the hope the ecclesiastical 
teachers hold out, that in another life beyond the 
grave he shall find new and better conditions, 
where he may pursue his personal existence with 
joy and satisfaction. This hope, which is the only 
fruit of his life here, is the sole thing between him 
and the madness of despair. All his eager pursuit 
of happiness has brought him no reward save this 
hope born of unfulfilled desire. 

But regeneration, or spiritual birth, consists in 
learning that animal happiness is not the object 
of our lives. Regeneration is the death of the 
animal nature through the renunciation of its de- 
sires; and the unfolding of the spiritual nature 
through the recognition of its own purposes and 
possibihties. When a man sees that his true life 
consists in controlling animal desires by the exer- 
cise of his true reason, he first understands what 
regeneration really is. The old hopes and de- 
sires, the old selfish ambitions, the old personal 
aims, dissolve as mist dissolves before the sun. 
He knows that they w^re never real, but simply 
the veil that prevented his seeing the true light. 



THE TRUE LAW OF LIFE 53 

In the glow of the true light he finds joy and 
satisfaction; qualities blossom into thoughts, aims 
and actions whose fragrance neither he nor those 
about him hitherto dreamed of. 

Those who have not had this birth can no more 
understand what it is, than the dry seed can antici- 
pate its bursting into a plant. All the powers and 
possibilities are there, but they have not burst 
through the husk of the false view of man's life 
as a pursuit of animal happiness. These are they 
who, having not yet felt more than " I am," are 
unable to realize the joy of that higher feeling " I 
love." 



CHAPTER VI 

THE GOOD OF LIFE 

Although feeling that happiness for himself 
is impossible each man spends his life in pursuit 
of it, constantly chasing a will-o'-the-wisp, mis- 
taking it for the light of life. The disappoint- 
ment which follows effort to secure happiness for 
ourselves leads us to think that the failure is due 
t9 some unusual demand of our nature to which 
life Is not equal. 

We recognize the pursuit of happiness not only 
as an inherent right of each living human being, 
but we further consider it a necessary expression 
of life Itself. We have no choice but to seek it, 
though the search ends always in disappointment 
and suffering. It must be so while we seek indi- 
vidual happiness, and have no larger conception 
of the purposes of life. 

We are not content with seeking personal hap- 
piness, a pursuit that we know^ in advance must 
end in failure, but we also try to make others pre- 
fer our happiness to their own. And in this ef- 
fort the failure is yet more sure. Given a group 

54 



THE GOOD OF LIFE 55 

of men, whether of ten or a million, each one 
sure that the purpose of his life is personal hap- 
piness, and that It may be secured only by pur- 
suing his own desires, at any cost to his fellows, 
and it Is easy to see how hopeless Is the task of 
him who tries to persuade them to prefer his hap- 
piness to their own. Yet vain as is this effort, 
futile as It must remain while men hold this view 
of life, we persist In the attempt, and so we come 
to look upon life as a series of painful experiences. 

We never learn that happiness can be attained 
only by considering the good of others as our 
own. If each one could see this, and could strive 
for it as earnestly as we now strive for personal 
good — the pain and disappointment of man's 
life would disappear. We should then be living 
In accordance with our higher nature, and In 
harmony with the law of our being. Only In this 
way can the useless contest In which man Is en- 
gaged — the strife not only between his own two 
natures for supremacy, but also the strife between 
himself and every other man for the gratification 
of his own desires — only in this way can all that 
vain strife be ended. 

If we admit the truth of this doctrine, though 
unable to live it wholly from day to day because 
the effects of our false view of life must first be 
purged away — even this admission will lead us 



S6 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

to abandon the false and material object of life, 
which gets further and further away the more wc 
pursue it. If man could secure happiness by 
selfish gratification of animal desires only, what 
incentive would there be for living in accordance 
with his higher nature? If his concept of life 
were bounded by the animal view, his higher na- 
ture would inevitably disappear, just as some of 
our physical organs have disappeared when the 
conditions of life made them no longer necessary 
to us. That an animal or a merely animal man, 
*' the brutish man," should get entire happiness 
through selfish gratification is all right. Like 
Watt's dogs that '* delight to bark and bite, it is 
his nature to." But if a child of the spirit could 
get happiness that way, it would be a calamity to 
him, for it would kill his desire and progress to- 
ward higher things. It is the failure to secure the 
end we seek through selfish indulgence that helps 
us to see the truth and beauty of the unselfish or 
selfless aim when it is presented to us. 

When we are able to admit the truth of the 
doctrine that happiness may be found only through 
considering the good of others as our own, we lose 
our fear of death. Our fear of death is really 
our dread of losing, through the death of our flesh, 
the happiness of the animal life, the only happiness 
known to the animal man. 



THE GOOD OF LIFE 57 

The body being to us the Instrument upon which 
Life plays Its wondrous symphony, we cannot con- 
ceive of the destruction of that Instrument as other 
than a calamity. We fear the approach of Death, 
and misinterpret its meaning and possibilities so 
long as we regard personal happiness as the sole 
aim of life. 

But when we have learned to regard the good 
of others as our own ; when we know that in order 
to be enduring, our happiness must be based upon 
the happiness of all, then death ceases to look like 
the discontinuance of happiness. For so long as 
the good of others Is our good, happiness con- 
tinues, and can be no less though we may be no 
longer individual, conscious sharers In it. We are, 
no matter under what circumstances, a part of It, 
and the happiness of our Individual selves having 
ceased to be our aim, our true happiness Is not 
affected by the death of the flesh. 

To this statement the troubled and erring heart 
of man replies " But that Is not life. Renuncia- 
tion of life is suicide." Then the rational feeling 
to which we have submitted our animal desires 
when we grasp the true view of life, rejoins: " I 
know nothing about that. I know that such Is the 
life of man, and that there Is no other, and that 
there can be no other. There can be only one 
true idea of life, and that Is the Idea In accord 



58 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

with man's higher nature. I know that such a life 
is true life and happiness, both for one person and 
for all the world. One of the marked proofs that 
the doctrine is true lies in this, that it makes equally 
for the happiness of the individual and of the 
mass. No other idea of life appHes to every phase 
of life. 

" I know that what you call enjoyment shall 
become happiness for you only when you shall not 
seize for yourself, but when others shall give of 
theirs to you. Man is so constituted that he can- 
not find happiness in selfish pleasures. He cannot 
transmute sensual enjoyments into higher joy, and 
when you have learned that you are a part of all 
others, and not a separate individual, you will 
know this beyond a doubt. It is then that you 
will recognize enjoyments to be superfluous and 
irksome, as they really are, when you seize them 
for yourself. You know now that they are not 
satisfying, then you will know that they are not 
even desirable. 

*' You shall free yourself from actual sufferings 
only when others, and not you yourself, shall re- 
lease you from them. Though this may seem im- 
possible to you now, reflection will show you that 
you know it to be true. Your sufferings now 
while still in the animal life are not confined to 
yourself alone. You cause suffering to others by 



THE GOOD OF LIFE 59 

the pursuit of your aims without regard to theirs, 
and they cause suffering to you by pursuing a simi- 
lar course. Your suffering is increased by their 
suffering, and theirs by yours. 

" Already you know that you cannot by your- 
self avoid sufferings in life. You have tried to 
save yourself pain, you have striven to secure your 
own happiness without considering others, and 
have failed. You have regarded their loss as your 
gain, only to find that you were mistaken, and that 
the end sought brought no happiness when 
achieved. You look ahead, and see nothing but 
similar pain and disappointment awaiting you, and 
through fear of these anticipated sufferings which 
seem so unavoidable to you, you are tempted to 
deprive yourself of life itself, by suicide, rather 
than face these sufferings. 

" The more I love myself and strive with 
others," continues the Rational Man in the argu- 
ment raging within yourself, " the more will others 
hate me, and the more viciously will they struggle 
with me. This I know to be true by what I have 
seen of the effect of the opposition of others to my 
efforts to secure my own pleasures. While other 
men oppose my animal nature, and prevent the 
gratification of my bodily desires, I am moved to 
struggle more desperately against them, more and 
more hopeful that by their defeat shall the battle 



6o WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

for my happiness be won. Out of such a strug- 
gle can come nothing but hatred and further 
strife, and through it their opposition to me is 
increased many fold. 

" I know that the more I hedge myself in from 
suffering the more torturing it will become. If I 
regard anything as ' bad ' for me and wholly unde- 
sirable, and if yet it comes to me; if I spend my 
time trying to avoid it, yet find it thrusting itself 
upon me at every turn, then is its power to hurt 
me multiplied enormously, and the merest trace 
of that undesirable thing in my life becomes an 
exquisite torture. 

*' I know, too, that the more I guard myself 
against death, the more terrible will it appear. 
The more I hold the view that in the body and 
its demands lies the whole of life that I may 
know, the more dreadful will the thought of the 
destruction of that body become. The fear of 
such a possibility will blanch my cheek, check my 
enjoyment of any pleasure, and may, indeed, so 
fill my mind with dread foreboding that in the very 
frenzy of fear I may myself compass that death 
whose anticipation drove me to madness. 

" I know that, whatever a man may do, he can 
attain to no happiness until he shall live in har- 
mony with the law of his life; and life itself has 



THE GOOD OF LIFE 6i 

shown me that its law consists In the renunciation 
of the animal self and the control of the higher self 
through reason." 



CHAPTER VII 

THE LIFE UNIVERSAL 

A REASONING man cannot fail to see that if we 
admit the possibility of replacing the striving for 
our own happiness with a striving for the happi- 
ness of other beings, life will become rational and 
happy. 

Because as soon as the reason is awakened, and 
man sees that there is more than animal existence 
In his life, he begins to realize that this greater 
thing Is not confined to himself. At first dimly, 
but afterwards more clearly, he perceives that he 
is nothing, can feel nothing, can have nothing that 
does not belong to the lives of all other men. 
That all having the same needs and the same feel- 
ings, happiness through the fullest satisfaction of 
those needs and the expression of those feelings 
depends upon mutuality. 

When once we see this clearly, the renunciation 
of the selfish, personal life becomes not merely de- 
sirable, but actually necessary to us. We see that 
it was not a mistake to expect to find happiness in 
life, but that our mistake lay in our conception 

62 



THE LIFE UNIVERSAL 63 

of how we could secure it. Now that our spiritual 
eyes are open, and we see that the higher life Is 
the only true life of man, we are led by the very 
beams that enlightened us to seek happiness 
through the good of others. We feel that there 
Is no other way to get It, and until we see this our 
lives are poverty-stricken and valueless. 

It could not be otherwise, for until we see this 
and live It, we are carrying on our life In direct 
violation of the law of our being. It Is plain to 
each of us that even a machine operated In op- 
position to the plan upon which It was constructed 
will not only fail to fulfill Its purpose, but will 
also suffer Injury and even destruction. How 
much more apparent Is It that only pain and failure 
can ensue while men live In opposition to the law 
of their being? That the only way to make their 
lives valuable to themselves or others is to recog- 
nize the law and conform to It? 

Humanity Is making some progress In this di- 
rection, not only in regard to the relations of 
man to man, but also In regard to the relations of 
man toward the lower animals. Even the crimi- 
nal code, the existence of which Is the best proof 
that mankind has not yet seen the true law of life. 
Is being modified Into a greater semblance of hu- 
manity as the number of those who understand 
man's life Increases. 



64 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

In the struggles that arise between races and na- 
tions that still seek their own good at the expense 
of the rest of the world, there is now less fre- 
quent recourse to war. In national councils, the 
force of the lives and teachings of those who 
see life aright, has its influence, albeit not often 
known or understood by the councilors. Old men 
have seen visions, and young men have dreamed 
dreams of the day that is to dawn, when humanity, 
knowing that happiness can be found only in the 
good of all, rather than of the individual, shall 
forever cease to war with itself. And these 
dreams are already being translated into the life 
of nations. The lust for killing other creatures is 
disappearing, and exploitation is taking the place 
of murder. More animals are domesticated and 
made useful, while men kill fewer even for food, 
and are learning In larger and larger numbers to 
subsist on the eggs and milk rather than on the 
flesh. Man Is learning to restrain his destructlve- 
ness as he understands his proper relation to life. 

Because of this progress that humanity has made 
we condemn the search for mere gratification. 
The effect of this general condemnation may be 
seen in the more temperate use of alcohol andl 
other things that minister merely to the animal 
craving for excitement and gratification of the] 
lusts of the flesh. Even conventional society noj 



THE LIFE UNIVERSAL 65 

longer regards regular inebriety as a trifling lapse, 
nor tolerates licentiousness as an amusing weak- 
ness. 

This may well be due in large measure to the 
mere growth of refinement in our mxethods of 
gratifying animal desires; but it Is still more 
largely due to the recognition that excess means 
shattered nerves and weakened Impulses even for 
the next generation; that man may not Indulge his 
own desires at the expense of others. We have 
come to approve abstinence from all such selfish 
indulgence of the animal nature, and have be- 
gun to worship the sacrifice of that animal self for 
the good of others. Not merely because It Is 
the good of others, but also because there can be 
no real good for ourselves which does not Include 
the good of others. 

This is In short the recognition that there Is no 
good but Love. It Is Love that makes It im- 
possible for us to find ** good " or happiness for 
ourselves in what Is " bad " or painful for others, 
so that we seek our pleasure In the happiness of 
others and thus find It. 

*' The commandment In which my whole teach- 
ing is expressed is this only, that all men should 
love one another. Love consists In the laying 
down of our bodily life for others." — (Spirit of 
Chris fs Teaching, p. 229.) 



66 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

Simple men who labor with their hands, more 
generally acknowledge that the best life is to give 
themselves to others. Their daily labor consists in 
producing things whose value lies in exchange. 
They see that to get even the necessaries of life, 
the food, clothes and shelter the body demands, re- 
quires them to produce something that their fel- 
lows need and will therefore take in trade. 

Seeing this in their daily social relations makes it 
easier for them to grasp the truth that true hap- 
piness — the welfare of the spiritual nature — 
like the bodily welfare — lies in giving themselves 
and their service to the needs of others. 

" I understand now that the true welfare Is 
possible for me only on condition that I recog- 
nize my fellowship with the whole world. I 
believe this, and the belief has changed my esti- 
mate of what is right and wrong, important and 
despicable. What once seemed to me right and 
important — love of country, love for those of 
my own race, for the organization called the State, 
services rendered at the expense of the welfare of 
other men, military exploits — now seem to me 
detestable and pitiable. What once seemed to me 
shameful and wrong — renunciation of nation- 
ality, and the cultivation of cosmopolitanism — 
now seem to me right and important. . . 
I can no longer cooperate with measures main- 



THE LIFE UNIVERSAL 67 

talned by divisions between states, — the collection 
of custom duties, taxes, the manufacture of arms 
and projectiles, or any act favoring armaments, 
military service, and, for a stronger reason, wars, 
— neither can I encourage others to take any part 
in them." (M. R., pp. 256-7. Ed. 1885.) 

It is the " cultivated " intellects that defend 
selfishness on economic or philosophic or moral 
grounds. They have seen that there is no hap- 
piness to be found in the gratification of the baser 
animal desires, but they have not yet recognized 
the true life. They Indulge the mental desires 
and appetites for knowledge, either for Its own 
sake, or for the advantage it gives them person- 
ally over their less advanced fellows. Or else 
they indulge their desires for the sake of the power 
and the prominence and self-satisfaction It brings; 
or their desires for beauty because of the sensuous 
delight it affords the mentally developed man. 

They spend their time gratifying such tastes 
which are In reality no less selfish than the animal 
lusts, and are like the animal lusts in that they grow 
stronger and more numerous the more they are rec- 
ognized. Such men first cultivate, then stimulate, 
then try to satisfy demands that hide from them 
the true view of life as completely as does the In- 
dulgence of the merely physical desires. 

Not through the cultivation, or stimulation and 



68 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

satisfaction of such Intellectual desires shall man 
find happiness. " I cannot help repeating that our 
happiness or unhappiness cannot In the least de- 
pend upon whether we lose or acquire something, 
but only on what we are ourselves." — (M. L., let- 
ter to his wife, 1884, 197.) Rather shall man 
find happiness through discarding all such vain and 
selfish ends, and submitting to true reason, that 
reason which points out that the IndlvIduaFs hap- 
piness is bound up in mankind's happiness, and 
that it cannot be gained through sacrifice of others 
but only by the renunciation of the selfish animal 
life. 



CHAPTER VIII 

DESIRE 

*' Desires " are as numerous as the radii of a 
circle, and can never be satisfied. The whole of 
the animal life is made up of desires, and these be- 
come no fewer in number to the " cultivated " in- 
tellect, they merely change their form. One who 
looks in the shops, or in the libraries, may realize 
that all activities show the multiplicity of desires. 
The desire for food led man first to hunt and 
fish and, afterwards, to till the soil. The desire 
to possess that which fills some need or pleases the 
fancy makes men endure great exertion and even 
terrible privation if thereby they may be assured of 
securing their heart's desire. 

A book is written and printed because of the 
desire of the author to let others know the thoughts 
and fancies that have occupied his mind. This 
may be due to an unselfish desire to share whatever 
happmess he has known v/ith as many others as 
possible, or it may be due to that egotism which 
forces us all at times to endeavor to impress our- 
selves upon our fellows. Whether it be invention 

69 



ja WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

or discovery, book-making or manufacturing; 
whether it be noble self-sacrifice or cruel murder, 
good or bad, loving or hating, the underlying 
cause of all alike is desire. 

We waste our time trying to gratify all the de- 
sires of the flesh, hoping thus to satisfy them. 
The gratification of one leads to the creation of 
another and so they increase, causing artificial 
needs that oppress and depress us by their weight 
and insistence. We know the saying of the Greek 
philosopher, " I like to go to the market-place to 
see how many things there are that I can do with- 
out." 

Even one of these Innumerable desires. If suf- 
ficiently dwelt upon, may take possession of a 
man's whole being. For the gratification of this 
one desire which has superseded every other pur- 
pose of life, a man will spend years toiling, saving, 
suffering; forgetting his relations to the rest of the 
world, regarding every obstacle in the way of his 
success as a great evil, and looking with suspicion 
upon any who seem to thwart him In his en- 
deavor. Even other desires that call him in other 
directions are ruthlessly trampled underfoot that 
the one absorbing wish may be gratified. Cir- 
cumstances are twisted to meet the needs of the 
moment, life is narrowed to the one purpose of 
furthering this desire. Should he In the end fail 



DESIRE 71 

to accomplish It, he Is bereft of all happiness or 
of even a hope of happiness from any other course ; 
should he succeed he Is still worse off, for the ful- 
fillment never brings with It the happiness he had 
hoped for. He feels that he has lost all he 
staked; he looks upon his life as broken or wasted, 
and upon himself as bankrupt in both purpose and 
achievement. To such a man this Is all that life 
seems to mean and to bring. 

How can It be otherwise when our acknowl- 
edged teachers admit that the highest perfection of 
man consists in the number and development of 
all sides of his refined desires. This is the teach- 
ing that has led us to believe that only when our 
wants are many, and our desires too complicated 
to allow us to live simply or to have time to ex- 
amine our relation to our fellows, are we living 
at all. This It Is that causes man's inhumanity 
to man. Our own needs and desires press so 
closely upon us that we are unable to feel the needs 
of others. If we see them at all, we see them 
only as obstacles to the fulfillment of our own 
aims, obstacles that must be overthrown, which 
otherwise will overthrow us. 

Such teaching makes men think that they feel 
only personal animal or mental desires; that this 
is natural, and that to renounce them would be un- 
natural and, therefore, impossible. It is this feel- 



72 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

ing that makes us regard the Golden Rule as an 
impossible counsel of perfection in actual life. 
But, as Henry George has said, *' To do unto 
others as we would that they should do to us, is 
not a mere counsel of perfection." 

Renunciation seems to us to be the death of life, 
not merely the death of selfish desire; and it must 
continue to seem so while we regard the multi- 
plicity and complexity of our needs as the proof 
that our life is larger and fuller than when our 
wants are few and simple. 

The fact that we want the largest and highest 
expression of life which we have yet conceived, Is 
in Itself a proof of the existence of our higher 
nature, though It Is still In bondage to the physical 
nature. When we come to understand that higher 
nature, we learn that it is not the renunciation of 
our Individual desires that Is required, but rather 
their subjection to the higher reason or " Wis- 
dom." Herein Is the true law of life. 

This belief Is not merely an Intellectual percep- 
tion arrived at by study, as our mental desires are. 
There Is nothing truly " higher " In the mental 
than in the physical desire. It Is merely a less 
gross method of gratifying selfish aims, and, be- 
cause of that added refinement, more dangerous 
to the development of the true Idea of life. Men 
who live on what Is called the mental plane de- 



DESIRE 73 

velop a feeling of superiority that stands as an im- 
passable barrier between them and their fellows 
who are not so intellectually cultivated. The 
purely animal man accepts matter as expressed in 
his physical body as the whole of life and lives 
solely to fill its demands. The intellectual man 
seeks the laws that govern material existence, find- 
ing in conformity to them the whole purpose of 
life. 

But the true law of life cannot be found by ex- 
amining matter. It is a spiritual understanding, 
and is perceived by a spiritual illumination. This 
illumination may come suddenly, suffusing our 
whole path of life, as it came to Saul of Tarsus as 
he journeyed toward Damascus, blinding us with 
its great light; or it may be in a more gradual way 
until perhaps the word of some Philip, who joins 
us on our journey, may show us the true idea of 
life, and then and there we cry, " I believe," and 
" go on our way rejoicing." This spiritual illu- 
mination may be had by anyone who opens 
his soul to it by willingness to receive and 
to act in accordance with the law of life. To 
any such the quickening of the spiritual under- 
standing may come at any moment and for him to 
whom it comes, Hfe and his idea of life are changed 
in the twinkling of an eye. The renunciation of 
selfish aims becomes no longer an unnatural or im- 



74 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

possible task, ending in death, but a natural and 
joyous rule of life through the exercise of which 
we find life " more abundantly." 



1 



CHAPTER IX 

UNITY OF OUR LIVES 

For man, entrance Into life and the course of 
life, is like the experience of a horse which the 
master leads from the stable for harnessing. 

On coming out of the stable into the light, and 
scenting liberty, it seems to the horse that in that 
liberty is life, yet he is harnessed and driven off. 
He feels a weight behind him, and, if he thinks 
that his life consists in running regardless of 
others, he begins to kick, falls down and, indeed, 
may kill himself. But If he does not fall, he has 
two courses open to him ; either he will go his way 
quietly, and drag his load, finding that the burden 
Is light to him, and that trotting Is not a torment, 
but a joy; or else he will kick himself free. Then 
his master will lead him to the treadmill and will 
fasten him by a halter; the platform will begin to 
slide beneath him, and he will walk In the dark, 
confined to one place, suffering. But his strength 
will not be wasted; he will perform his unwilling 
labor, and the law will be fulfilled in him. The 
difference will be in this, that the first work would 

75 



76 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

be joyful, but the second compulsory and painful. 

The satisfaction of all simple, normal wants Is 
guaranteed to man as it is to the bird and the 
flower; provided that in his own sphere, man live 
a simple, reasonable life, as birds and flowers do 
in their spheres. (Matt, vi, 20, to end.) 

The man who recognizes life as simple, and 
lives it on the simple plane, governed by higher 
reason, finds joy and satisfaction entirely unknown 
to the man who spends his energy In cultivating de- 
sires and his time in endeavoring to satisfy them. 
The simple needs being the only true needs, their 
satisfaction alone is guaranteed. To every man 
dally comes the call, " Choose ye this day whom 
ye will serve " — the physical man or the higher 
reason. If happiness lies only in conforming to 
the true law of life, and we choose rather to ful- 
fill the desires of the flesh, how shall we expect to 
find our life here other than a dark and painful 
mystery ending in the still darker, more painful 
mystery which we call death? 

The larger part of mankind accepts, under the 
name of Buddhism, this truth that life supplies 
man's simple needs; but the vast spread of that re- 
ligion renders it subject to corruption, and these 
corruptions are regarded by cultured persons as 
disproving the truth of the religion itself. This 
is as if one who had seen the sun's rays only 



UNITY OF OUR LIVES 77 

through stained glass should deny the existence of 
the pure, white light of day; forgetting that the 
medium through which light came to him might 
stain it, but could not alter the true qualities of 
light, or disprove them. As the stained glass af- 
fects light, so man's false idea of life blurs his 
conception of the truth of life. His conception of 
his animal existence as the whole of life colors his 
understanding. As Shelley says, " Life, like a 
many-colored dome, stains the white radiance of 
Eternity " — but he who has once seen the higher 
life knows that the white radiance of Eternity has 
not been dimmed. 

Though the larger part of mankind does so 
understand the law of life, and gets from its ob- 
servance quiet of mind; and although it is impos- 
sible to understand life and get into harmony with 
it in any other way, yet this does not in the least 
disturb the Scribes and Pharisees. They continue 
to teach the masses who look upon them as leaders, 
the same old doctrines that have been tried for 
centuries and proved wanting. That the control 
of the animal desires by the higher reason is the 
only true law of life, is regarded by them as a 
mere " theory," and according to them progress 
and invention have superseded such oldtime " the- 
ories." 

No glimpse of the truth that progress and in- 



78 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

vention are in themselves but aids to man's spirit- 
ual development when rightly used and understood, 
comes to them. These processes, meant to sim- 
plify life and enable men to satisfy mere physical 
needs more easily, thus leaving more time for liv- 
ing the real life of man, are by these teachers con- 
strued into so many more proofs of the complexity 
of animal requirements. 

Unlike the Scribes and Pharisees, the Hindoo 
sees that there is a contradiction between the life for 
the flesh and the higher life, and he is solving it ac- 
cording to his light. So far he truly lives. When 
the blind man's eyes were first opened he saw 
" men as trees walking," but this was an advance 
over not seeing motion at all, and was but the 
preliminary stage of seeing men walking as men. 
Thus the Hindoo, despite the corruptions that have 
crept into his religion is better off than the modern 
materialist who is like a beast that does not yet 
perceive any higher life. Yet the perception of 
the altruistic life is the most valuable product of 
the experience of the ages. We see the truth of 
this the moment we feel " I love," for it is this 
altruistic perception of life which has led to the 
development of all man's ideals and fine qualities. 
Friendship, courage, gentleness, meekness, tem- 
perance, loving-kindness and love itself are the 
fruits of the higher life. In the animal man they 



I 



UNITY OF OUR LIVES 79 

are merely rudimentary, and affect the conduct only 
when they appear to be advantageous to the Indi- 
vidual. 

Some of these are found even in the beasts in 
this rudimentary stage, although they have little 
use for them in their lives. There is this distinc- 
tion, however, between the states of beasts and 
of men. The higher the animal is, the more com- 
plex are its parts and the more dependent are the 
parts upon one another. There are some worms 
so simply constructed that if one Is cut In two, we 
have two worms; if the higher animal is cut in 
two, both parts are dead. So with the state of 
mankind. The birds and the fish live, from their 
nature, each to itself; each is but slightly depend- 
ent upon any other; each suffers for its errors 
mainly in itself. 

With the higher organism of Man the parts are 
more dependent upon one another. Man cannot 
live In a world of men, and be happy or successful 
without the cooperation of other men. We may 
not Ignore our relation to our fellows, nor our de- 
pendence upon them. Everything In man's life 
shows the necessity o.f unity rather than separate- 
ness. 

Interior happiness we may find each for our- 
selves by opening our eyes to look for and follow 
our better nature, submitting our lives to the con- 



8o WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

trol of the higher reason. " Peace I give unto 
you," said Jesus. But when we have found this 
peace each for himself by the control of animal 
desires, we find that we are more nearly one than 
before because the same law works in us all. 

But exterior well-being cannot be found through 
each seeking his own desire, but rather through in- 
ducing our fellows also to come out into the light 
of the true life. Just as we could not find happi- 
ness until we had lost the false view of life and 
found the true law, and got into harmony with it, 
so our brethren can know no real happiness until 
the same experience is theirs. 

Experience teaches us that while our fellows suf- 
fer and struggle held in the bondage of the false 
idea of life, the welfare of them and of ourselves 
even in external things cannot be established. For 
we are an army marching together, in which " no 
man liveth to himself and no man dieth to him- 
self." 



CHAPTER X 

THE DUAL NATURE 

The argument of pessimistic philosophers Is 
the same as that of the commonplace suicides and 
contains its own contradiction. Man's nature, say 
they, contains one " I " that has an Inclination or 
desire for a full animal life, which desire cannot 
possibly be gratified; and a second " I " that has 
no inclination for life, seeing the futility of it all. 

If, therefore, I yield to the being that Inclines 
to animal life, I live senselessly; there Is no 
" good " in It worth having, for though I grasp it 
I cannot hold it and my desires are never satisfied. 
Full animal life consists In the satisfaction of all 
desires and If such satisfaction is impossible then It 
Is Indeed foolish to waste my efforts In attempting 
to live the animal life. 

If on the other hand I yield to the being that 
sees the futility of life, there remains to me no de- 
sire for life. For how can a man desire that which 
he sees to be futile and worthless? This second 
** I " does not believe that it is good to live for 

8i 



82 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

God or for others, It sees my life only as some- 
thing myself possesses separate from the life about 
or around me, and considers the possession of that 
valueless. This " I " tolerates life so long as it 
does not become tiresome, but when this worthless 
life becomes wearisome to me, I leave it. 

This is *' the darkness that comprehendeth not 
the light." This is the contradictory idea of life 
that men had reached before Solomon's time, the 
Wise Man who taught that wisdom was to be es- 
teemed above rubies and much fine gold, and thus 
set upon the real life a fresh estimate of value that 
even the animal man could understand. Before 
the time of Buddha men walked in this darkness 
and some to-day still see nothing more in life; false 
teachers like Schopenhauer and Hartmann, pessi- 
mists, would lead men back from the light into the 
blackness of material night. 

The teaching of Truth has ever been that man 
possesses here and now, an actual and Inalienable 
happiness, which Is within the reach of everyone. 
This happiness Is familiar to everyone and every 
unperverted human soul Is drawn to it. It Is the 
natural expression of the higher life toward which 
every man Is Inclined. It is the end toward which 
the race has striven, at times diverted from the 
straight path and groping blindly at times, but 
driven ever by the unexpressed higher nature to 



THE DUAL NATURE 83 

seek happiness In every way that offers, until It has 
learned how futile are ail ways but one. 

It Is our false idea of life that keeps us from 
plainly seeing this truth, that we can be happy; but 
children and the unsophisticated know the feeling 
that solves all the contradictions of human life, and 
gives the greatest possible happiness : this Is Love. 

We talk of love, and many say " I love,'* who 
know nothing about love, whence It comes, or what 
it means. But to feel love is to know what love 
is by its own evidence. Jesus said a tree Is known 
by Its fruit and he who feels love Is known by the 
evidences of love in his daily life. 

Love is one form of the animal nature brought 
under the rule of the higher law. Its highest de- 
velopment Is the only reasonable activity of man- 
kind. Man is not a victim of contrary desires 
which prevent harmony with himself and with his 
fellows and the rest of the universe; he appears so 
only to those who find the two natures of man 
seemingly at war with one another. 

Love is the highest expression of the higher 
reason, but it Is also in the undeveloped man and 
is an inherent part of the animal or lower nature. 
It is the same feeling that, controlled by the higher 
reason, brings man happiness and harmony, the 
ends for which life was made. It Is only the per- 
version of love and its application to purely selfish 



84 . WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

aims because of our false idea of life, that makes 
it bring pain instead of joy. 

The awakening of the animal personality is al- 
ways first, because until man has realized the " I," 
his own existence, he cannot say '' I feel," nor can 
he understand " I love " as the highest expression 
of that conscious existence and of that feeling — 
this animal personality demands happiness. This 
demand, instead of separating man's two natures, 
should unite them more closely, and it does unite 
them when properly understood; it suggests to us, 
indeed, their perfect unity. It is when we under- 
stand this demand as applying only to our indi- 
vidual selves that we find life a series of painful, 
disappointing experiences with no other explana- 
tion than that it tends to perfect a race; or that 
we find life endurable only through the belief in 
another life where we shall fulfill our selfish pur- 
poses without pain.^ 

^ According to the doctrine of the Church, men have 
a right to happiness, and this happiness is not the result 
of their own efforts, but of external causes. This con- 
ception has become the base of science and philosophy. 
Religion, science and public opinion all unite in telling 
us that the life we now live is bad, and at the same time 
they affirm that the doctrine which teaches us how we 
can succeed In ameliorating life by becoming better, is 
an impracticable doctrine. Religion says that the doc- 



THE DUAL NATURE 85 

Either view leaves us unsatisfied, and makes of 
life a useless striving. 

True reason from the heart shows us the misery 
of strife and how Impossible It Is to secure peace 
through strife; it shows us, too, that there can be 
no happiness In selfishness, that when we feel love 
we must act love, and that love has nothing to do 
with selfishness. True reason shows us that the 
only real happiness possible for us Is life In which 
there shall be no strife, no satiety, and no end. 

Our own experience of the animal life has proved 
that none of the selfish happiness we sought was 
won without contest both with ourselves and with 
our fellows, and that the strife brought us more 
pain than pleasure, more suffering than joy. Fur- 
ther, we have learned that the selfish aim won at 
such cost quickly palled upon us and Its enjoyment 
was ended before It had well begun. 

trine of Jesus, which provides a reasonable method for 
the improvement of life by our own efforts, is imprac- 
ticable because Adam fell and the world was plunged into 
sin. Philosophy says that the doctrine of Jesus Is Im- 
practicable because human life Is developed according to 
laws that are Independent of the human will. In other 
words, the conclusions of science and philosophy are ex- 
actly the same as the conclusion reached by religion In 
the dogmas of original sin and the redemption. — {M. R., 
168.) 



86 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

But when we hearken to what true reason 
teaches, lo, like a key made for this one lock, every 
man finds in his own soul a feeling that gives him 
the very happiness his reasonable heart tells him 
is the only true happiness. He sees his life and the 
life of his fellows as one, and each and all a part 
of that larger life towards the fullness of which he 
may move only through unselfish love, the love that 
feels and knows that in the good of all lies the 
good of each, and that it cannot be obtained in any 
other way. *' What I see in Christianity is not an 
exclusively divine revelation, nor a mere historical 
phenomenon, but a teaching which gives the mean- 
ing of life."— (5. C. T., 151.) I 



I 



CHAPTER XI 

THE SELFISH LOVE 

Selfless love, unlike the selfish kind, not only 
solves the contradictions of life, but uses the con- 
tradictions of life to show itself; for animal indi- 
viduals suffer, and to remedy this suffering con- 
stitutes the chief activity of love. The animal 
Individual desires, and proceeds selfishly to gratify 
his desires, with resulting pain and disappointment. 
Love will show the animal man that these desires 
are worth gratifying only when they Include all, 
and that such gratification alone will bring true 
pleasure. Thus the seeming contradiction between 
pleasurable desires and painful fulfillment is recon- 
ciled, and we learn that the only desire which ends 
In individual pain is the desire we try to fulfill for 
Individual pleasure. 

Our animal individuality strives to use others. 
To fulfill our own desires we not only thwart and 
hinder others In their efforts to gratify their crav- 
ings, but we endeavor to divert their efforts on 
their own behalf to our own benefit. We use the 
needs of our fellow-creatures, whether those needs 

87 



88 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

be physical, mental or spiritual to secure for us the 
gratification we seek. In the material world we 
use what advantages we naturally or accidentally 
possess to enable us to secure to our own use a 
larger and larger share of the " good things of 
this world." By special laws, by driving hard 
bargains, by withholding natural rights, by a con- 
test of wills or of brute force, we compel the so- 
cially weak to yield up to us that which they pro- 
duce, save just enough to enable them to continue 
to produce that we may continue to get. 

*' Jesus, whom we recognize as God, comes and 
tells us that our social organization Is wTong. We 
recognize him as God, but we are not willing to 
renounce our social institutions. What, then, are 
we to do? Add, If we can, the words ' without a 
cause * to render void the command against anger; 
mutilate the sense of another law, as unjust 
judges have done, by substituting for the com- 
mand absolutely forbidding divorce, phraseology 
which permits divorce; and if there Is no possible 
way of deriving an equivocal meaning, as In the 
case of the commands, ' Judge not, condemn not,' 
and ' Swear not at all,' then with the utmost ef- 
frontery openly violate the rule while affirming that 
we obey It." — (M. R., 147.) 

Then, lest the weak become discontented, and 
strive on their part to do to us what we have done 



THE SELFISH LOVE 89 

to them, we encourage the false teachers to preach 
to them that what is denied them here will be 
granted them In another life, if they are but patient 
and long-suffering. By this means we hope to se- 
cure to ourselves undisputed possession of what we 
wrongfully gained. It Is thus the animal individ- 
ual strives to use others for his selfish advancement. 

But Love gives itself to others, and inclines us 
to the cxtremest sacrifice of our fleshly existence for 
others, and in doing that it takes away the fear of 
death. True Love gives Itself freely, seeing that 
therein Is the only way to secure happiness. Self- 
love throws us Into antagonism with all the world; 
and we know that when we are forced to strive 
against many, and wrest what we want from others 
by the force of selfish purpose, there Is no time 
for enjoyment of what we win. That which Is won 
by the sword must be held by the sword, whether 
or not It Is worth the cost. And that which we 
win by strife with our fellows can only be held by 
a continuance of that strife, though what we have 
won may bring us no pleasure. True love recog- 
nizes that there can be no selfish good, but that all 
truth, all happiness must be universal; that only 
In the happiness of all can the one find happiness. 
Thus Love gives Itself freely to others even to the 
point of sacrificing its Individual existence. 

Men fear death only so long as they look upon 



90 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

the animal life as all there is of life, and death as 
the end of it. When they have renounced fleshly 
alms for the higher purposes of life, they recognize 
that death ends nothing that truly is, but is merely 
the change that must come before we can enjoy 
true life to the fullest extent. When death is no 
longer the end of the passage where darkness is, 
but the open door Into a fuller life, why should 
men fear it? This understanding of death is not 
possible to the animal man. 

Therefore, those who see nothing In this life but 
animal existence, say '* love Involves pain while it 
lasts, and it will end." These are they who see 
without perceiving, who hear without understand- 
ing. To them love seems as lamentable and as 
deceptive as all other states of mind. They may 
recognize something in it that is peculiar, — differ- 
ent and more satisfying, something more impor- 
tant, too, for the Individual and the race than any 
other state of mind, but they do not see the reason 
and harmony In it. Often it seems to them some- 
thing Irregular and torturing. Their eyes are not 
open to behold Its beauties, but only to be dazzled 
by its strong light. Something of this feeling must 
be the effect of sunrise upon an owl. 

This misconception Is because such persons think 
of Love as one only among the numberless desires 
of life, not as the object of life. They do not con- 



THE SELFISH LOVE 91 

ceive of man as living for Love, in fact, of think- 
ing Love, acting Love, being Love in all his re- 
lations. They see Love dimly, recognizing some 
of its beauty, and seeing that it is superior to the 
other desires, but they do not see it as including 
all that man needs or can express. They think 
that man should pursue his animal desires with 
the same Intensity of purpose as that with which 
he follows Love. 

" Men," say they in effect, *' must sometimes 
study, sometimes make money, sometimes love." 
They cannot see that the house divided against 
itself cannot stand; nor do they remember that 
the old-time seer with such wavering persons in 
mind had said, " I would thou wert cold or hot. 
So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither 
cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth." 

But love Cometh not in to sup with such men. 
They see only the love that is a form of selfish- 
ness, the love that sees not all men as one, but as 
a series of groups, and which transfers the pursuit 
of their Individual happiness to the pursuit of the 
happiness of their special group. 

This is the love that sacrifices others not directly 
for myself, but for " my child," or " my friend; " 
the feehng that makes a father, even to his own 
pain and torture, take the last bit of bread from 
hungry men In order to provide for his own chil- 



92 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

dren. In doing this he does not see that he is 
loving himself through his children more than he 
loves men, and that for this reason what seems 
to him noble and unselfish brings him only pain 
and regret. It is the love through which he who 
loves a woman, suffers through this love, and 
causes her to suffer, seducing her, or killing both 
her and himself because of jealousy. It is the feel- 
ing that impels men belonging to one association 
to injure those of other associations for the sake of 
upholding their own fellows. It is the feeling 
that makes a man render himself, and others also, 
miserable over his favorite occupation, though the 
occupation In Itself may have altruistic qualities 
that should bring only joy. It Is this same feel- 
ing that renders a man unable to endure an Insult 
to his " beloved " fatherland, but which does not 
prevent him rushing into war to avenge that " In- 
sult," and strewing the plain with the dead and 
wounded of his own country, and of others. 



CHAPTER XII 

ANIMAL LOVE 

To love means to do good. We desire good for 
those whom we love, but we find that to get that 
good for them alone means Injury to others, or at 
least the neglect of others. When we see this we 
find ourselves hesitating about taking the " good " 
we think we want only for those we love as we 
would hesitate about taking It for ourselves. This 
hesitation is due, though perhaps unconsciously, 
to our recognition that to desire happiness only 
for those who Immediately belong to us Is little 
less selfish than to desire It for ourselves alone, 
and no different In its essence. That sort of de- 
sire proves that we are still under the dominion of 
the animal nature, though the expression of its 
control is less gross in form. 

This partial recognition of the presence of self- 
ishness In our desires for the good of those near 
and dear to us, leads to much Inner questioning. 
The animal nature, so long Indulged, does not let 
go Its hold without a struggle. If it cannot blind 
the higher nature to the futility of seeking happi- 

93 



94 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

ness for a few to the injury or neglect of all others, 
it will present selfishness in a new and more at- 
tractive form. It is not content that we shall 
recognize the necessity of renouncing selfish de- 
sires and of seeking our happiness solely through 
the happiness of others. It does not readily ac- 
cept the effacement of " I am," so, keeping alive 
the individuality of each, it leads us to ask, *' How 
far, then, am I to sacrifice myself for the service 
of others, and whom shall I serve?" And lest 
that be not sophistical enough to deceive the 
newly-awakened better self, it further suggests, 
" How much care may I now take of myself in 
order to be able later, since I love others, to serve 
them?" 

Over this question the man stumbles who has 
only begun to know the feeling *' I love " and to 
recognize its demand that selfish desires be re- 
nounced. It was the difficult question that the 
lawyer put to Jesus, "Who is my neighbor?" 
Jesus' answer to this question in its entirety sent 
the rich young man sorrowful away. 

For we must know that every happiness in the 
flesh is received by one person only at the expense 
of the possible happiness that might be obtained 
by another, or that at least might be given to an- 
other. It is this knowledge that causes us to 
strive with our fellows for what we see as our 



'j 



ANIMAL LOVE 95 

personal good, and to wrest it from them without 
regard to the loss or suffering it may entail upon 
them. We see that one gets only such desirable 
things as others fail to get, or even that one gets 
because another loses and we cannot, while holding 
the false view of life, conceive that our seeming 
loss could be gain to us. To get what we desire 
at any cost to our fellows is the only thing that 
then seems gain to us. 

How then, when partly awakened and longing 
to throw off the yoke of personal selfishness, arc 
we to decide at whose expense, and in what degree, 
we shall help those whom it is necessary to serve? 
All people, or our Fatherland? Fatherland, or 
our friends? Our friends, or our own wives? 
Our wives, or our children? Our children, or (in 
order that we may be able still further to serve 
others later) ourselves? 

All these persons make demands of love, and 
all the demands are so interwoven that there is no 
possibility of serving some without depriving 
others. It seems to the newly-awakened man that 
he must make a choice and whatever choice he 
makes will cause pain to him and to others whom 
he feels he loves and would not willingly hurt. 
Perplexities and difficulties seem to have increased, 
and for these difficulties that which the world calls 
love offers no solution. 



96 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

Most of the evils amongst men spring from this 
feeling, falsely called love, which is no more like 
real love than the life of the animal is like the life 
of man. As soon as we learn that the life of man 
does not consist in the number and variety of his 
animal desires, and that the end and aim of his 
life is not the gratification of these desires, we 
begin to perceive that love, too, must be more than 
animal love, if it is to be worth living for. 

To love only our own offspring or those who 
are so great a part of our lives that we cannot 
regard existence without them with any degree of 
complacency or pleasure, is to love just as the 
animal loves, because these persons are either part 
of ourselves or necessary to our physical comfort. 
When a man says that he loves his wife or child 
or friend, he usually means that the presence of 
those persons heightens the happiness of his indi- 
vidual life. They are in a sense essential to his 
enjoyment and he considers their claims upon him 
superior to all other claims that life may make. 

If he can be moved to renounce any personal- 
animal desire, it is only for them, and then less 
for their good than because he cannot endure that 
they, being his, should not have what they desire. 
It is but another form of the same selfishness 
which he exhibited before he had feelings which 
he calls love toward any but himself. 



ANIMAL LOVE 97 

But these preferences for certain beings, or 
things, or occupations, cannot be called love; for 
they have not the chief mark of love — activity, 
which has for Its aim the happiness of the loved 
one. The true happiness of the loved ones con- 
sists, like our own true happiness, In the control 
of the animal desires by the higher reason, and 
the feeling we possess toward our beloved does 
not tend that way. It rather teaches them to re- 
gard their own interests and desires as paramount 
to all else and so sets their feet in the wrong path ; 
the path that we ourselves have trod and found 
leading to unhappiness and death. 

This violence of preference for some people 
over others Is merely the stock upon which true 
love and its offshoots may be grafted. 



CHAPTER XIII 

REAL LOVE 

The possibility of real love begins only when 
man has comprehended that there can be no hap- 
piness for his animal person. For so long as man 
thinks that the happiness of the animal person is 
possible, just so long will he strive for that hap- 
piness. The fruits of animal happiness are so 
tangible to the unawakened person! The prizes 
held out to him by life are wealth, fame, and other 
forms of power and in the possession of these 
prizes he thinks he may find happiness. Wealth, 
fame, and power, or what man regards as wealth, 
fame and power, are only to be attained by cruel 
means and selfish ends, and these could not pos- 
sibly produce true happiness, which must include 
contentment. " Unless we give up our pretended 
riches, we shall obtain no real riches. We can- 
not serve both the false life of the flesh and that 
of the spirit; we must serve the one or the other. 
We cannot strive for riches and serve God. What 
IS great In the sight of men Is an abomination unto 
God. Riches to God is an evil thing. The rich 

98 



REAL LOVE 99 

man Is wrong In that he eats In abundance and 
luxury while the beggar hungers at his gate. All 
should know that the retaining of property for 
self Is a direct non-fulfillment of the will of the 
Father.''— (*S. C. T., 192.) ... (It Is to 
be remembered that Tolstoy Is speaking of our 
social state, which joins poverty to progress. 
Jesus, however, seems to have believed In a volun- 
tary communism. — Ed.) Experience shows us 
that those who attain these earthly ambitions are 
never content therewith, but constantly strive by 
more and more selfish methods to secure more 
wealth, fame and power. 

He who Is condemned to Immediate death will 
not concern himself about Increasing or preserv- 
ing his fortune; he will not concern himself about 
leaving behind him fame or about the triumph of 
his nation over other nations, or about the dis- 
covery of a new planet, and so forth. But a mo- 
ment before his death he will try to console the 
one who suffers, he will lift up an old man who 
has fallen down, he will dress another's wounds, 
he will mend a toy for a child. — (C R.) 

Only he understands genuine love who has not 
only understood, but has by his life confessed, that 
he who loves his own soul loses It, and that he who 
disregards his own soul preserves Its everlasting 
life. If we realize this we must live It out, just 



loo WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

as when we think of the animal life as all there 
is, we must live according to its desires. If we 
truly live the higher life, then our lives confess it 
and we ourselves know the joy of it. 

Love is the preference for other beings to one's 
self, to one's animal personality. If a man prefer 
the happiness of others to his own animal grati- 
fication he shall find joy In that happiness because 
he is thus* following the law of his being. For it 
is not given to a man to live unto himself alone, 
and to find therein even the joys of this life. 
Man, being more than the beast of the field, must 
find the joy of living in other than the beast's en- 
joyments. 

" Preferring one another in love " creates in 
man a state of affection toward every person and 
toward every thing. This is a natural state in the 
life of little children, who love all things and per- 
sons until fear, envy, jealousy or hatred are 
taught them through what they see and hear about 
them. This state of affection arises in grown per- 
sons, those who have hearkened to the teachings 
of the Scribes and the Pharisees and have had their 
hearts hardened thereby, only upon renunciation 
of selfishness, the death of the animal view of life. 
This Is the " confessing of Christ," in our lives. 

How quickly this affection toward all docs 
spring up and take the place of selfishness may be 



REAL LOVE loi 

proved by anyone who will. Let every man try, 
at least once, when he Is ill-disposed toward other 
people, to say to himself, honestly and from his 
soul, *' It is all the same to me, I need nothing; " 
and let him, if only for a time, desire nothing for 
himself. 

" Think of death more often and live as if you 
were to die soon. However you may hesitate 
how to act, imagine that you are to die in the 
evening, and your doubts will clear away immedi- 
ately. You will see clearly what your duty Is 
and what your personal desires are.'* — (C R.) 

By so simple an experiment we shall learn, In 
proportion to the honesty and sincerity of the re- 
nunciation of self, how Instantaneously all ill-will 
or malevolence will disappear. The desire to 
secure personal gratification, though we must rob 
our fellow to do it, will no longer control us. We 
shall see every man, not only as our brother, but 
as ourself, and know that we cannot take from 
ourself to give to ourself and thereby gain happi- 
ness, but can get it only by giving all. 

We shall notice how after this complete renun- 
ciation of self, affection toward all things will 
gush from our hearts, up to that time sealed to 
selfishness. To break that seal is to set free the 
true love that is in us which so easily overcomes 
the animal nature. This process, which proves of 



I02 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

how little avail that view of life is which made us 
believe that self is all, corresponds in some degree 
with " the denial of evil " of Christian Science. 

But if we stop there, saying only " I need noth- 
ing for myself," we shall not find full happiness. 
We shall prove how natural is the impulse to love, 
but we shall not know all the joys of unselfish love, 
not even for one person, until we have forgiven 
everyone, those who have injured us, and those 
who treat us unjustly. Jesus taught that to make 
an acceptable gift on the altar of sacrifice it was 
necessary, if we remembered aught against our 
brother, to be reconciled to him before making the 
gift. 

It is not enough that we should simply forgive 
the offender; we must cease to desire that even the 
offense shall be punished; and if, through that 
offense the offender has made a gain, we must 
even wish him well In the enjoyment of it. For 
after all, the thought that the wicked must suffer 
for their evil, either in this life or another, is born 
of our desire that they should. Such a desire is 
not born of the higher love, but of self-love. It 
is the feeling that prompts us to be almost resigned 
to our loss and disappointment if the other shall 
have gained nothing that makes him happy. 

" You envy another, you are indignant, angry 
at him, you want to wreak your vengeance on him. 



REAL LOVE 103 

Consider that to-day or to-morrow that man will 
die, and not a trace will be left of your evil feel- 
ings against him." — (C. R.) 

If we would deny to the lower evil nature any 
enjoyment that it might get from ill-gotten gain, 
we might be denying it the only joy of which it 
was capable. For we may well admit that the 
nature capable of the higher happiness cannot 
find enjoyment in evil; while that which can find 
happiness in evil carries its own punishment in it- 
self because it is denied even the conception of 
that higher happiness that we have proved to be 
of inestimable value. Just as the cuckoo, devoid 
of affection for its young, does not in consequence 
suffer, but only loses the unspeakable joy of ma- 
ternity, of which it cannot even conceive. 

When we accept the order of Nature which 
shows forth God's kindness and wisdom; when we 
can love the offender and forget the offense ; when 
we can free our hearts of all bitterness, asking 
nothing but to spend and be spent for others; 
when we shall do this, begins for us the real sweet- 
ness of life. 



CHAPTER XIV 



Only from such universal affection can spring 
up genuine love for certain persons, one's rela- 
tives or strangers. So long as we love merely in 
the common way, we are not loving those " oth- 
ers " for whom we imagine we have unselfish, 
devoted affection; we are really loving ourselves. 
We strive to secure for them the things we think 
are good for them : we get our own happiness by 
so doing, and, after all, it is that personal happi- 
ness we are striving for. 

The proof of this is found in the fact that we 
suffer pain and disappointment if those we so love 
think other thoughts than ours, choose other aims 
than our aims, or other than those we would choose 
for them. Or if they desire for their own good 
something that is not in our hopes and desires for 
them, we feel that they have not appreciated our 
affection, and this thought distresses us. When 
our love for our own springs from that universal, 
understanding affection that desires nothing for 

104 



LOVE'S SACRIFICE 105 

itself, not even that " our own " shall please us, 
then we shall no longer suffer through our love. 
Such love alone solves the apparent contradiction 
of the animal to the reasonable existence. 

Any love that has not for its foundation the 
renunciation of individuality, that does not include, 
as a consequence, affection for every one, is merely 
the life of the animal, and is subject to the same 
misery and to ever greater miseries, and to still 
greater folly, than is life without this fictitious 
love. 

When we know only our animal life, and love 
only our personal self, desiring nothing but what 
seems for our good, we suffer pain and disappoint- 
ment so far as we personally fail to get what we 
want. And when what we call our love includes 
others, our chances of pain and misery are many 
times increased by every one we love. If we feel 
that we must give them what they want, we suffer 
when we fail in getting it, both for their disap- 
pointment and for our own. Thus, parents who 
think that for their children's sake they must even 
rob other children if necessary, not only suffer 
worry and anxiety in their effort to secure this ma- 
terial good, but, after getting it, when they find it 
does not give the happiness they had hoped for, 
they endure not only disappointment and resent- 
ment, but also the pangs that a reasoning being 



io6 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

must suffer who knows he has been unjust and 
cruel in vain. 

The feeling of passion called love does not re- 
move the conflict of existence, does not free an in- 
dividual from the pursuit of enjoyments, and does 
not save from death; on the contrary it still more 
embitters strife, augments the thirst for pleasures, 
for oneself and for others, darkens life and in- 
creases the terror of death of oneself and of others. 
If we could not understand life when we saw in 
It only a contest of ourselves against others for 
the fulfillment of our own desires, how much less 
shall we understand it when that contest against 
hosts is not only for the fulfillment of our per- 
sonal desires but also for the fulfillment of the de- 
sires of those we love? If we pursue enjoyments 
for ourselves, how much more eager will that pur- 
suit be when we are aiming to wrest from life en- 
joyments for others? And if we fear death when 
it means only the giving up of our own animal 
existence and the destruction of our personal de- 
sires, how much more shall we fear it when our 
personal death seems to mean leaving our friends 
and their desires behind; and their death seems to 
mean their destruction and the pain for us of be- 
ing cut oH from them? 

The man who seeks his life in the happiness of 
his animal person, who Increases during the whole 



LOVE'S SACRIFICE 107 

course of his life the means of animal happiness, 
by acquiring wealth and hoarding it, will make 
others contribute to that animal happiness; he 
must indeed make them contribute if he is to suc- 
ceed. Moreover, he will distribute that animal 
happiness among those persons who are most use- 
ful to him for the welfare of his own person. 
But how is he to devote his life to some persons 
when his life's support is drawn not from himself, 
but from the unwilling efforts of other persons? 
And still more difficult will it be for him to de- 
cide to which of the persons preferred he should 
give the benefits he has attained. 

Before he shall be in a condition to love, that 
is, to do good, forgetting himself, he must cease 
to hate, that is, to do evil; and he must cease to 
prefer some persons to others for the sake of the 
happiness of his own person. The love that is 
based upon the happiness or well-being of oneself 
is no better, no less selfish, than the love that is 
confined to oneself. But the special love for 
some, which has its root in the understanding 
love for all, having no element of selfishness in 
it, has no pain. 

The happiness of the life of a man who sacri- 
fices himself through love is as natural as is the 
well-being of a plant in the light. As the covered 
plant cannot inquire, and would not in any way 



io8 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

inquire, in what direction it is to grow, or whether 
the light is good, or whether it must not wait for 
some other and better light, but instead, takes 
the only light that exists, and stretches toward it 
— so the man who has renounced individual hap- 
piness does not argue about how much of that of 
which he has deprived other people he must give 
up, and to what beloved beings he should give it. 
Nor does he ask whether there is not some better 
love than the one that makes the demand. He 
does not weigh the value of what he has to give 
against the value of what he is to get. He ceases 
to think of self or of his individual desires. 
No longer having his personal gratification for 
an aim, he gives himself, his being, to the love that 
is accessible before him. Only such love gives 
satisfaction to the reasoning nature of man. Love 
that is less than this is self-love, accompanied as 
all selfish living is, with disappointment, and with 
pain. 



CHAPTER XV 

LIFE IS LOVE 

Love Is true love only when It Is selfless. Only 
when one gives to another not merely his time and 
his strength, but when he spends his body for the 
beloved one, gives up his life for him — only this 
do we all acknowledge as love; and only In such 
love do we find happiness, the reward of love. 
We find happiness because there Is no element of 
strife In such love; no contest either with our- 
selves or with others. We have no thought of 
personal gain or advantage. We do not stop 
to ask ''What shall I get from this sacrifice?" 
nor do we compare what we have done with what 
is done In return for us. We give of ourselves 
freely, asking only to spend and to be spent for 
love's sake. 

Exactly In this manner does every laborer for 
the good of others give his body for the nourish- 
ment of another, when he exhausts himself with 
toll, and brings himself nearer to death. The 
man who tolls to the limit of his strength every 
day that children may be fed, not merely because 

109 



no WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

they are his children, and must be preserved as part 
of himself at any cost to others — but because 
they are children helpless and dependent, and gives 
of the fruit of his toil freely to any who need, he 
is every day living this love and getting happiness 
and peace from it. Such love is possible only to 
the man who knows no limit to the sacrifice, either 
of himself or of those beings nearest and dearest 
to him. For if a man say that he renounces his 
selfish life, yet sees his own family as needing to be 
supplied with everything their animal nature 
claims, he but shifts the center of his animal de- 
sires, but has by no means renounced them. Until 
he can see that life no more consists in fulfilling 
their desires than in fulfilling his, and that he 
must renounce their desires as well as his own, he 
can neither love them truly nor, indeed, know what 
true love is. 

" Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all 
thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy 
mind." This is the first and great commandment. 
And the second is like unto it; " Thou shalt love 
thy neighbor as thyself." Thus, from the old 
Testament, quoted the lawyer, when the Pharisees 
sought to entrap Jesus. And Jesus replied, " Thou 
hast answered right — this do," — that is, love 
God and thy neighbor — '' and thou shalt liveJ* 
(Matt. XXII, 36-8, with Luke x, 27-8.) 



LIFE IS LOVE III 

This promise of true life when we truly love 
Is of the same nature as the assurance — " Ye shall 
know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.'* 
The only way to know life Is to live, and we shall 
live when we shall love with our whole nature, and 
our neighbor as ourself, not better than ourself, or 
different or separate from ourself, but as ourself, 
that Is as one with ourself, whose good Is our 
good. 

" We know that we have passed from death 
to life,'* says a disciple of Christ, '* because wc 
love the brethren." (I John iii, 14.) So shall 
we know when we have passed from the false 
view to the true view of life; when we have ceased 
to serve only our animal desires, and have come 
to serve all men; for then we shall love the 
brethren, not because they love us or serve us, 
not because we can through them obtain our de- 
sires, but because thus to love them Is the true 
and harmonious expression of our higher life. 
True love Is Indeed the life Itself. 

Who among living people has not known that 
blissful sensation that life Is love — though It was 
only during early childhood, before the soul was 
choked up with the lie that stifled life in us ? Who 
does not recall that blessed feeling of emotion, even 
If but once experienced, during which one desired 
to love everybody, both those near to him, his 



112 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

father and mother, his brothers ; and those removed 
from him, " wicked people " and his enemies and 
his dog and his horse and even the blade of grass? 
How it filled, enlarged and satisfied our whole 
nature! In that moment life was all beauty, all 
joy, all harmony, either to live or to die was gain, 
for the fullness of life had been tasted. This is 
the light that Walt Whitman came to show — the 
joy of loving and serving all. 

When a man feels thus he desires one thing — 
that it should be well with everybody, that all 
should be happy, and, still more, he desires that 
he himself may act so that it may be well with 
all; that he may give himself and his whole life 
to making others comfortable and happy. Such 
a desire leaves no room for self as a separate 
thing; it cannot conceive of securing happiness 
through the pursuit of personal pleasures. It 
sees self only as an expression of all, and all as 
self. There is no place where the love which 
creates this desire of giving everything stops to 
consider what do *' I " get out of this relation to 
my fellows, but instead the love sees " myself '* 
and " others '^ as one. And this, and this only, 
is that love in which lies the Life of Man. 

This love manifests itself in the soul of Man as 
a hardly perceptible, tender shoot, in the midst 
of coarse weeds resembling it. These weeds are 



LIFE IS LOVE 113 

the various material desires of man usually called 
love. It seems to men, and to each man himself, 
at first, that from this shoot must grow the tree 
of real love In which the birds shall shelter them- 
selves; and it seems also that all the other shoots 
are of the same kind. 

At first, men prefer and cultivate the weeds of 
self-love, which grow fast. As they push up rank 
and tall, the one shoot of life is stifled, and lan- 
guishes, for just as in the garden the tall weeds 
rob the good plants of light and air until they 
dwindle and even die, so do the lusty selfish de- 
sires stifle or kill the tender shoot of true love in 
the soul. 

But men frequently treat this tender shoot even 
worse than by strangling it through cultivation 
of the weeds. Having heard that among the 
number of shoots, there is one which is genuine, 
life-giving, called Love, but not knowing which 
it Is, they trample it down, and begin to rear 
another shoot from the weeds, calling this love. 
This is the love of " one's own, family, friends, or 
country." Or, worse yet, men seize the shoot 
with rough hands, crying: "Here it is, we 
have found It, now we know it, let us train it, 
love ! love ! the most elevated sentiment, here it 
Is ! " And they begin to transplant it, to correct 
It; and handle it; and, fighting for it, crush it until 



114 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

the shoot dies before it has flowered. Then they 
say: "All this is nonsense, folly, sentimentality." 
This is the love that would force upon others what 
we think is for their good; that makes for them 
laws which suit us; that makes us substitute or- 
ganized charity for justice; that leads us to give 
to the poor, because " lending to the Lord " pays 
well, and to think that by renouncing a few self- 
ish pleasures here we may secure larger happiness 
in a life hereafter. 

But Love needs only one thing — that we should 
not hide it from the sun of righteousness, which 
is another name for justice, and which alone will 
promote Its growth. 



CHAPTER XVI 

THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS 

Man understands the merely visionary and 
elusive character of the animal existence; this his 
whole experience has taught him, even before he 
has been awakened to a higher life. He knows in 
his heart that setting free the one true life of love 
within him alone confers happiness — that his 
whole physical existence is a gradual annihilation 
of his person, and he cannot but become aware of 
this on the approach of that person to inevitable 
death, yet he strives In every way to preserve that 
perishing existence, and to gratify Its desires. In 
short he spends his strength for that which is 
not only nothing In Itself, and will bring him 
nothing, but the pursuit of which deprives him- 
self of the possibility of the only happiness in life, 
which is love. Yet we call man the reasoning ani- 
mal, though he persists In living without listening 
to reason, hearkening only to the demands of the 
flesh. 

The activity of men who do not understand life 
is always directed to a conflict for their own ex- 

115 



ii6 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

Istence, to the acquisition of enjoyment, to their 
own dehverance from suffering or to the putting 
off of inevitable death. Such a conflict is exhaust- 
ing, and the increase of physical enjoyments itself 
increases the strain of that conflict as well as adds 
demand to demand, renders us more sensitive to 
suffering, and hastens the approach of death. 
For when we have increased and intensified the 
suffering of the flesh until the pain has become un- 
endurable, dissolution of the physical body must 
follow. 

When we see death drawing on apace we try 
to hide from it, and know but one means — the 
means that has really hastened its approach — 
still further to increase animal pleasure. Inev- 
itably pleasures reach the limits where they cannot 
be further increased; from that point they pass into 
suffering, and leave with us only deepened sensi- 
tiveness to suffering, and a more intense shrinking 
from pain. As death comes ever nearer and 
nearer, our terror grows more real and soul-rack- 
ing. 

The chief cause of this terror is not clear to those 
who do not understand life. It does not lie in 
the thought that death means the end of all the 
things we have eagerly sought, no, for we know 
how unsatisfactory such pleasures have proved. 
Its real source is the realization that what we 



THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS 117 

have called pleasures (all gratifications of a rich 
life) are of such a nature that they cannot be 
shared equally among all men, that what we get 
somebody else must be without. Therefore, we 
have taken our pleasures from others, by force If 
needed, by evil, and by trampling down that kindly 
inclination toward all people which is the root of 
love. As the dissolution of the physical body 
draws near, we realize how useless has been the 
struggle we have maintained, and we see, as never 
before, that the only real thing is love. 

But the pleasure we have pursued is directly op- 
posed to love, and the more intense the pursuit, 
the more it is opposed to love. Thus the very 
intensity and all-absorbing nature of our activity 
for the attainment of physical pleasures has made 
more impossible the attainment of the only true 
happiness accessible to men, which is love. 

When we look at life from the physical or self- 
ish standpoint, it seems as though the increase of 
happiness must proceed from the best external ar- 
rangement of one's existence. But what we re- 
gard as the best external arrangement — wealth, 
position, power — in a state of society where all 
opportunities are restricted, may be secured only 
by greater and greater violence to other men, which 
is directly opposed to love. 

It appears to us that the existence of a poor 



ii8 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

laborer, or of a sickly man is evil, unhappy, be- 
cause we look upon life as purely physical. The 
existence of a rich or healthy man seems to us good 
and happy, because he has the things that belong 
to the physical life. Therefore, we bend all the 
strength of our minds to escaping a poor, sickly, 
evil, unhappy existence, and to obtaining for our- 
selves a rich, healthy, good and happy one. This 
is consistent enough with a false view of the pur- 
pose of life, and so long as we hold that view 
we must pursue selfish pleasures and seek selfish 
profit. 

While we see life this way we think that the 
advancement of mankind consists in devising and 
handing down better means to gain such a life. 
We believe that every new thing that makes it 
easier to secure our selfish pleasures, no matter at 
what expense to our fellows, is a sign of prog- 
ress. We talk much of the progress of our age, 
although through the very multiplication of these 
progressive means of gratifying all our animal 
desires, and creating new ones that had no exist- 
ence heretofore, we oppress our brother still more, 
and thrust upon him a refinement of cruelty and 
suffering unknown in a less progressive age. 

Holding this view we vie with one another in 
endeavoring to delay death by pampering the de- 
sires of the body, tempting the palate with new 



THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS 119 

foods for which the world has been put under 
tribute, clothing ourselves in " purple and fine 
linen," cultivating our minds, multiplying our 
pleasures, and by every means maintaining, as well 
as possible, the pleasing life which we have in- 
herited from our parents, or organizing for our- 
selves a new and still more pleasurable life. All 
of which is erroneous and futile. 

When we get the first glimpse of the true life 
of man, we are sometimes beset by the habits of the 
past. We cling to old beliefs, old customs, old 
ideas as to what is necessary for our welfare. We 
know these accessories have failed to satisfy us, 
yet we fear we shall not be satisfied without them. 
We must, however, learn, each one of us, whatever 
crusts of prejudice we have to break and however 
painful it may be, to stamp into our own hearts this 
truth, that there is no good but love, and no evil 
but self-love. To these words only opens the door 
of Happiness. 



CHAPTER XVII 

THE FEAR OF DEATH 

" There is no death," says the voice of Truth. 
" I am the Resurrection and the Life; he that be- 
lieveth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he 
live. And every one that llveth and believeth In 
me shall never die." 

*' Jesus' meaning was that the dead are living in 
God. God said to Moses, * I am the God of 
Abraham and of Isaac and of Jacob.' To God 
all those who have lived the life of the son of 
man are living. Jesus affirmed only this — that 
whoever lives in God will be united to God; and 
he admitted no other idea of resurrection. As 
to personal resurrection, strange as it may appear 
to those who have never carefully studied the 
Gospels for themselves, Jesus said nothing about 
it whatever." — (M. R., 144, Edition 1885.) 

When we hear the denial of death we recognize 
it as the voice of Truth. It accords with our own 
inner belief that we cannot die; that the span of 
existence here cannot be all that there is of life. 
This inner conviction it is that makes us so gladly 

120 



THE FEAR OF DEATH 121 

accept the teaching that there Is another life beyond 
this, where, with greater satisfaction, we shall con- 
tinue the experiences begun in this. It has made 
us picture the other world as a place where material 
good and sensuous delights abound. We in- 
stinctively feel that there must be perfect happiness 
somewhere; and, as we have not attained it here, 
we shall surely get it elsewhere. Being blinded to 
the true life by our own false view, we extend our 
hopes, and try to calm our fears, by looking for- 
ward to a new life in the hereafter where we shall 
understand and enjoy. 

And if even the animal man hears the voice of 
Truth, and responds to it so far as he can, how 
much more does the rational man recognize that 
voice. He knows he has life now, life that had 
no beginning with him, and shall not end with the 
destruction of his body; life whose fullness per- 
vades every moment of his earthly existence, just as 
it will continue when he is no longer physically con- 
scious. 

" There is no Death," say all the great teachers 
of the world; and millions of men who understand 
life say the same, and bear witness to it with their 
lives. And every living man, whenever his soul 
sees clearly, feels the same truth in his heart. Not 
only he, but even they who would reduce life to a 
mechanism, who look upon one man as nothing 



122 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

save as he contributes to the development of the 
race, which in turn is nothing, beheve in the con- 
tinuance of Hfe. They say nothing ever dies. All 
is matter, and matter changes its form, but con- 
tinues forever. They have found no death in Na- 
ture, for what is apparent death to one expression 
of Nature is but the vehicle of life to still another 
or to numerous expressions. 

But men who do not understand life, who find 
It always a conflict in which the winner is no bet- 
ter off than the loser in the real things for which 
they strive, such men cannot do otherwise than 
fear death. For them the scientist's assurance of 
personal death carries with it dread and suffering. 
For if they have won what they sought here, and if 
they have known the spurious happiness possible to 
animal man, they hate to leave it and sink into noth- 
ingness; and if they have been unable to secure 
any happiness or contentment therefrom, they pro- 
test against annihilation, while still hungering and 
thirsting for the pleasures of life. They see death, 
and believe in it. 

*' How is there no death? " cry these people in 
wrath and indignation. "This is sophistry! 
Death is before us; it has mowed down millions, 
and will mow us down as well. And you may say 
as much as you please, that it does not exist, it will 
remain all the same. Yonder it is.'* 



1 



THE FEAR OF DEATH 123 

Argue it out : I shall die. What Is there terrible 
about that? Death Is merely a change, and how 
many changes have taken place, and are now In 
progress. In my fleshly existence, and I have not 
feared them? I am not even conscious of them. 
I do not live In fear to-day because the hair of my 
head, the nails on my fingers, the tissue of my In- 
terior physical organism or the very skin of my 
body will not be precisely the same to-morrow as 
now. I know that every time I think, speak or act, 
every time I draw a breath, I have caused a change 
in my organism. Shall I then fear to think, speak 
or act; shall I cease to breathe, simply because I 
cannot tell in advance just what that change 
may be, or because I desire that no change shall 
occur? 

Why should I any more fear this change called 
Death, that has not yet come, and In which there 
is nothing repulsive to my reason and experience? 
It Is comprehensible, familiar and natural to me, 
and during the whole course of my life I have 
formed fancies in which the death both of lower 
animals and of persons has been accepted by me, 
as a necessary and often an agreeable condition 
of life. If my physical comfort or pleasure is 
enhanced by the eating of meat, I do not protest 
against the violent deaths of the lower animals 
whose bodies I consume. Or, If my safety is 



124 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

menaced by lower animals or by human beings, I 
do not object to the sentence of death being carried 
into effect. I view the intervention of custom and 
law in my behalf with complacency and satisfac- 
tion. If there is nothing terrible to me In the 
thought of death for these, what is there so ter- 
rible in the prospect of destruction for my physical 
body? There is nothing terrible in It but the 
loss of the things I regard as life. 

For there are but two strictly logical ways of 
looking at life; one the false view — that by which 
life Is understood as these seeming changes that 
take place in my body from my birth to my death; 
the other the true view — that by which life is 
understood as the unseen consciousness that is with- 
in myself. Both views are logical, and men may 
hold either the one or the other, though they can- 
not hold them both at the same time, and get either 
joy or satisfaction. But In neither, held by itself, 
is the fear of death consistent. 

If the false view of life, that the animal life 
is all, were correct, then we should have no fear of 
death, for it is the natural end of the flesh. We 
see it happening on all sides, and should accept it 
without any conscious recognition of it at all, just as 
we accept all the other changes In the body. If 
we accept the true view we know that our conscious- 



THE FEAR OF DEATH 125 

ness IS separate from the physical body; that the 
changes In the body do not and cannot affect it, 
and that even the death of the body leaves the 
consciousness untouched. 



CHAPTER XVIII 

LIFE EVERLASTING 

The false view, which understands hfe as the 
visible changes In the body from birth to death, is 
as old as is the world itself. Men think they have 
recently discovered it, that only to modern scien- 
tists has it been revealed that all there is of life is 
contained in matter. Our materialistic philosophy, 
instead of discovering this view, has only carried it 
so far that it seems absurd. For no matter how 
far Science proceeds in this direction it comes al- 
ways to the point where it has explained so much 
about Life that It becomes necessary to explain Life 
Itself. And here it fails. It cannot show man 
how to live happily and how to bring about peace 
and harmony between the two apparently opposing 
wills within him. Failing, this. It falls in all, for 
this Is all of life. Both In its teaching and in its 
failure materialism to-day is the materiahsm of 
all ages and races. 

" I firmly believe that, a few centuries hence, 
the history of what we call the scientific activity of 

126 






LIFE EVERLASTING 127 

this age will be a prolific subject for the hilarity 
and pity of future generations. For a number of 
centuries, they will say, the scholars of the western 
portion of a great continent were the victims of 
epidemic insanity; they imagined themselves to be 
the possessors of a life of eternal beatitude, and 
they busied themselves with divers lucubrations in 
which they sought to determine in what way this 
life could be realized without themselves doing any- 
thing or even concerning themselves with what they 
already had. And to the future historian it will 
seem more melancholy, that it will be found that 
this group of men once had a master who taught 
them a number of simple and clear rules, point- 
ing out what they must do to render their lives 
happy — and that the words of this master had 
been construed by some to mean that he would 
come on a cloud to reorganize human society, and 
by others as admirable doctrine, but impracticable, 
since human life was not what they conceived it to 
be and, consequently, was not worthy of considera- 
tion; as to human reason (they thought), it must 
concern itself with the study of the laws of an im- 
aginary existence, without concerning itself about 
the welfare of man." — (M. R,, 173.) 

Materialism found expression among the Chinese 
and the Greeks ages before the modern discoveries 
were made. Among the Hebrews the thought ap- 



128 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

pears in the Book of Job, the oldest of all their 
books : '' Dust thou art, and to dust shalt thou re- 
turn." This view as held at present may be thus 
expressed: " Life is a chance play of forces in mat- 
ter, showing itself in space and time. Conscious- 
ness is the spark that flashes up from matter under 
certain conditions. All is the product of matter 
infinitely varied; and what is called life is only a 
certain condition of dead matter." 

Such is one way of looking at life. This view is 
utterly false and unsatisfying. It confuses life 
with its exact opposite — dead matter. It leaves 
man nothing to build upon, nothing that explains 
his existence or shows any excuse or purpose for his 
development. If life be but " a chance play of 
forces in matter," this play may at any moment 
cease, and life will then become extinct. It is a 
contradiction of the axiom that a stream cannot 
rise higher than its source, when we attribute the 
graces of the spiritual man to such a source of life 
as dead matter. But to those who have arrived at 
such a conclusion, death should not be terrible, but 
life ought to be terrible, as something unnatural 
and senseless. And life does appear so to the 
Buddhists, and to the modern pessimists, like 
Schopenhauer and Hartman. 

The other view of life is as follows: Life is 
only what I recognize in myself, when I meditate 



LIFE EVERLASTING 129 

upon It. I am always conscious of my life, not 
as I have been or as I shall be, but I am conscious 
of my life thus — that I am, that I never began 
anywhere, that I shall never end anywhere. It is 
not possible for me or for any individual to con- 
ceive of the state where this '' I " that I recognize, 
did not exist. When I begin to think of this at all, 
I feel that I am as old as recorded Time, and 
older, and though I may conceive, and do conceive, 
of my body as recent and as undergoing changes, 
yet this does not affect the " I." 

Nor can I conceive of this " I *' being blotted out 
and destroyed. I feel that there is no more an 
end for the real man than there was a beginning; 
none the less so, because I see the decay of the body. 
And, according to this understanding of life, death 
does not exist. 

Neither as an animal only, nor as a rational be- 
ing only, can a man fear death. The animal Is 
not conscious of life, but merely fulfills its func- 
tions, satisfying its animal needs from day to day. 
It feels pain, but does not see death ahead as its 
final experience. Not conceiving of life. It cannot 
conceive of death. The rational being, having a 
consciousness of life, cannot see in death anything 
except a natural and never-ending change of mat- 
ter. Only that being which, though endowed with 
reason, yet sees only animal desires as the source 



I30 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

and purpose of life, fears death, for to him it is 
neither natural nor reasonable. 

Man fears, not death that he does not know; 
but he fears life, that is, his animal existence with 
its changes, that he does know. He fears the loss 
of it, for, knowing naught else, to lose it is to lose 
all. The feeling expressed in men by the fear of 
death, is only the consciousness of the inward con- 
tradiction of life; just as the fear of ghosts is 
merely the feeling of a deluded mind. 

There is, of course, a merely physical shrinking 
from death, due to the inheritance of a desire to 
avoid it. Like the impulse to reproduction, this 
has been strengthened out of all proportion to other 
desires, because those men or beasts in which this 
desire was strongest were incited to the greatest 
exertions to avoid death. Before the days when 
man*s reason had taught him how to protect him- 
self from the elemental forces of Nature; before 
he knew the arts of peace and the helpfulness of as- 
sociation, life as he then knew it, the animal life, 
was maintained only through the greatest effort, 
and only those that reproduced abundantly were 
able to continue and to develop their kind from 
generation to generation. But reproduction alone 
was not enough, and man came to recognize that 
the next means for combating forces that he did 
not understand must be the development of strength 



LIFE EVERLASTING 131 

and cunning to withstand those forces. This 
proved to be even more effective than abundant 
progeny, and accordingly races developing these 
characteristics not only succeeded In great measure 
In perpetuating themselves, and Increasing their 
number, but also they endowed their offspring with 
the same race-feelings. 

On the other hand, those that had little repul- 
sion to death submitted earlier to any adverse 
conditions, and so earlier ceased to multiply off- 
spring. Even the descendants they left sur- 
rendered easily In the struggle for existence, there- 
by cutting off such branches of the family. In this 
way a repulsion to death became a means to life, 
and this animal repulsion still remains with men. 

But the momentary physical shrinking from 
death which is the Inheritance of man from his 
struggling ancestors. Is not what tortures men, 
making them think of " a grim specter,'' '* a de- 
stroyer," and so on and so forth. 

Superstitious fear of death is not fear of death at 
all, but fear of a life after the throes of death, a 
life as unsatisfactory as this. Our conception of 
this life is disappointing and unreasonable, and we 
imagine the life after death to be as unreasonable 
and inconsistent with the nature of Man and of 
God as we have made this present life to be. 
When we picture a life after this, it is this life 



132 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

over again, only a little less gross. We realize 
how futile has been our search for happiness here, 
while enthralled by personal pleasures, and we 
cannot see wherein we can hope for more in the 
life to come. " This is bad enough," w^e say, " but 
at least I know what it is. Of the hereafter I know 
nothing." 

" I shall cease to be, I shall die, all that in which 
I set my life will die," says one voice within man. 

*' I am," says another voice, " and I cannot die, 
and I ought not to die. I ought not to die, and I 
am dying." It is thus that the animal man whose 
reason is not fully awakened feels the contradiction 
of his life. 



CHAPTER XIX 

THE TERROR FROM IGNORANCE 

Not in death, but in this contradiction within 
him lies the cause of the terror that seizes a man 
at the thought of the death of the flesh. This fear 
of death lies not in the fact that man dreads the 
end of his animal existence, but in the fact that it 
seems to him that that which cannot die and must 
not die, will die. He cannot understand this catas- 
trophe, so its approach fills him with dread. Man 
fears anything that he does not understand; this is 
a race-inheritance from those days before reason 
ruled and interpreted things aright. Primitive 
man approached all new things, or things beyond 
his experience with fear, if he approached them at 
all. This fear developed caution, which in turn 
served to lengthen his bodily existence. Mankind 
has not yet outgrown the fears of primitive man. 

But we are terrified by the thought of the death 
of the flesh, not because we are afraid that life will 
end with it, -but because the death of the flesh 
plainly demonstrates to us the necessity of a true 
life which we do not possess, but which we feel we 

^33 



134 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

should possess and should have enjoyed. We 
know that the unsatisfactory result of our pleasure- 
seeking is itself a contradiction of life, as we feel 
that life should be. We surmise that somehow we 
have missed our aim, and we dread losing the op- 
portunity to try again. 

This fear of death proceeds from the fear of los- 
ing our special self which, we feel, constitutes our 
life. We think, " I shall die, my body will molder, 
and destroy myself." That which we have built 
up through the gratification of the senses, this 
bundle of hopes and fears, likes and dislikes, whims 
and prejudices; this something that causes us to 
seek and strive for success, this is what we think 
of as " Myself." We prize this self of ours; and, 
assuming that this self is the same as our fleshly life 
— as it would be were our understanding of what 
IS " Myself " correct — we conclude that we must 
be annihilated with the destruction of our fleshly 
hfe. 

But my real self is not my body, but rather that 
which has lived in my body for so many years. 
Neither my body, nor the length of its existence in 
any way determines the life of the soul. We all 
know that, even before we submit ourselves to the 
control of the higher reason. Any man living 
purely on the animal plane, knows that he, him- 
self, is no less if he loses an arm or a leg. His 



THE TERROR FROM IGNORANCE 135 

body has suffered a loss, but there is no lessening 
of that which animates the body. He does not 
think of himself as by so much less a human being. 
He knows that the bodily manifestation has noth- 
ing to do with his real self. If I, every moment 
of my life, ask myself in my own mind " What am 
I?,'' I reply: "Something thinking and feeling," 
that is, bearing itself to the world in its own pe- 
cuhar fashion. 

But this self, which thinks and feels, had its 
origin, and began to take its character, thousands 
of years ago in my ancestors, and in that from 
which they sprang. As a result it has its tenden- 
cies which are being modified by the experience 
and development of every day, but which have not 
yet broken free from the traits my ancestors gave 
it. This self is continuous; it began before my 
body was formed, and cannot then be a mere part 
of the body, which will end with it or change with 
it. It is something separate from the body; some- 
thing that uses the body as an instrument to ex- 
press itself so long as it needs that sort of expres- 
sion, or so long as this particular body can serve 
its needs, but its beginning or continuance is not 
dependent upon the body. " I never was not, 
nor shall I hereafter cease to be." (Bhagavad 
Gita.) 

Our body is not one, changeless and unchange- 



136 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

able, but is steadily undergoing such complete 
changes that every few years finds us with an en- 
tirely new body; even the mind that supposes this 
changing body to be oneself, and to be always the 
same, is not itself continuous, but is merely a series 
of states of consciousness. 

We have already many times lost both body and 
consciousness. Not only do we undergo every few 
years a loss of the body that we knew and that we 
thought to be ours, but also we lose our conscious- 
ness every time we fall asleep. Every day and 
hour we feel in ourselves the alteration of this con- 
sciousness, and we do not fear it in the least. Wc 
hear of something that is to occur, and our feeling 
about it is dread: we go around with a vague con- 
sciousness of discomfort about this thing. When 
it comes, we find perhaps that it has proved both 
a pleasurable and profitable experience for us, then 
our consciousness toward it changes completely, yet 
this change brings us no terror. We accept such 
changes of our consciousness constantly, and either 
give no thought to them or are glad of them. 

Hence, if there is any such thing as our " self," 
a consciousness that we are afraid of losing at 
death, then that self cannot be part and parcel of 
the body that we call ours. If it were a part of 
that body it would not be continuous, but, like the 
body, subject to constant change. 



THE TERROR FROM IGNORANCE 137 

What Is this something that binds In one all the 
states of consciousness that proceed In It, and suc- 
ceed one another hour by hour, but that funda- 
mental Self? What Is this on which as on a cord, 
are strung one after the other our various, succeed- 
ing states of consciousness, day by day? This Is 
our real self, that which says, " I love this, and I 
don't love that." 

In this attitude to other beings, every being Is 
separate. It Is Impossible to group any number of 
human beings by marks or physical manifestations 
only, when we come to know them. And this Is 
true not only of man. If I know a horse, a dog 
and a cow, and have any intelligent relations with 
them, I know them not alone by their external 
marks, but by that peculiar relation to the world In 
which each one of them stands, by the fact that 
each one of them, and in its degree, likes and dis- 
likes, loves and does not love this or that. 

This peculiar property of beings, of loving some 
things In a greater or less degree, and not loving 
others. Is usually called character, and man's char- 
acter Is In reality merely the sum of his understand- 
ing of life and his relation to it. The character 
is admirable and lovable according to the extent of 
the man's true understanding of life. 



CHAPTER XX 

SPIRITUAL LIFE 

The idea that the life consists neither of the per- 
ceptions of body only nor of those of mind only 
nor of the perception of body and mind combined 
is becoming familiar to us, through the teaching of 
" Mental Scientists," as well as through the new 
interest in the doctrines of Buddha and of The- 
osophy. Neither ** mental " nor " Christian " Sci- 
ence nor Theosophy claims to be new, but only to 
be the distinct enunciation of great and world-old 
truths. Truth is never new, but has existed ever 
since time was, although not generally recognized 
by men. Wherever any great Teacher of ethics 
stands out from any age or race, it is always be- 
cause he has seen the same fundamental Truth, 
though he may present it in somewhat different 
form. This Truth has been from the foundation 
of the world, and must continue. The first truth 
discovered about the laws governing the material 
world ages ago, and upon which all modern dis- 
covery Is based, Is as true now as when rudely ex- 
pressed by primitive man. 

138 



I 



SPIRITUAL LIFE 139 

The same continuity holds with spiritual laws. 
The truths recognized centuries ago are not less 
truths to-day; consequently the modern teachers 
refer to the oldest sacred books for statements of 
the transcendent nature of man. 

The reason that men generally do not see the 
truth in regard to life is that they fix their eyes 
upon a small, insignificant bit of life, and base their 
conclusions upon that, just as once astronomers, 
regarding the tiny planet that we call the Earth 
as the center of the solar system, interpreted every- 
thing in accordance with that belief. It was only 
the exceptional astronomer, who, seeking truth 
rather than verification of prejudice, helped to 
emancipate men from false views of the *' glories 
of the heavens." Men were not willing to be 
emancipated, and feared lest the revelations of 
solar laws should bring disaster upon them and 
their tiny planet. So men do not wish to see all 
of life, and tremble lest this tiny fragment of it 
that is so dear to them should be lost. The imag- 
inary danger to an existence which they totally 
misunderstand becomes a real terror. It takes 
possession of their consciousness, and precludes the 
possibility of recognizing their true life and all it 
holds. This recalls the story of the madman who 
imagined that he was made of glass, and being 
obsessed with this false idea, when he was thrown 



I40 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

down, cried "Smash!" and immediately died. 
There is no more foundation in fact for the false 
view of life which causes suffering and terror, than 
there was for the false view that caused the mad- 
man's death. 

One who has entered into the knowledge of life 
knows that this love for some, and dislike for 
others, which has been brought into his existence 
by himself, is the essence of his life; that this is 
not an accidental property of life, but that this 
alone has the essential of life, and he places his 
life only in this essential, the growth of love. 

As his love grows, his life expands, and his dis- 
likes are superseded by understanding, which con- 
tains no element of pain. He sees that his rela- 
tion to the world has changed, that his submission 
to the law of reason has increased. He notes the 
growing strength and scope of his love which gives 
him more and more happiness, not only independ- 
ently of his personal existence, but sometimes di- 
rectly contrary to it, increasing in proportion to 
the decrease of separate existence. This is fool- 
ishness to the animal man, but the rational man 
knows its truth. 

Such a man, having received his life from a past 
that is invisible to him, perceives its constant and 
unbroken growth that has nothing to do with his 
body, and he transfers it not only calmly but joy- 



SPIRITUAL LIFE 141 

fully to the unseen future. Death of the body 
holds no terrors for him ; he knows It cannot affect 
his true life, which must continue as It has always 
continued. 

Reflecting upon this I see that my friend, or my 
brother, has lived precisely like myself, but he has 
ceased to live as I live through a bodily existence. 
His life has been his consciousness and it has been 
passed in a bodily existence. My brother has been ; 
I have had relation with him, and now he is not, 
and I do not know the place, if there Is any place, 
where he is. 

" He is gone, nothing has been left behind," 
cries the animal man. Thus would speak a chrys- 
alis, a cocoon that had not yet released the butter- 
fly, on seeing that a cocoon lying beside It has been 
left empty. 

The cocoon might reasonably say this. If It 
could think and speak because, on losing Its neigh- 
bor, it would, in reality, no longer feel It in any 
way. It is not thus with m^. My brother has 
died; his cocoon. It Is true, has been left empty. 
I do not see him In the form In which I used to see 
him, but the fact that he has disappeared from my 
physical sight has not destroyed my relations with 
him. I retain, as the expression goes, a " remem- 
brance " of him. 

This remembrance Is not only of his physical 



142 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

body — the cocoon which held his spirit — his 
hands, his face, his eyes, but also a remembrance 
of his spiritual form. His likes and dislikes, his 
hopes and aims, his understanding of life also re- 
main with me. The forms of crystals and animals 
disappear ; so far as we know, no remembrance of 
them remains among crystals, or even among the 
lower animals. But the recollection I have of my 
brother is something vital; it acts upon me, and 
acts precisely as the life of my brother acted dur- 
ing his earthly existence. This remembrance de- 
mands of me now, after his death, what it de- 
manded of me during his lifetime. I cannot deny 
his life, because I am conscious of its power upon 
me. I feel constrained to think certain thoughts 
or perform certain acts, as the result of this power, 
just as faithfully as I would perform them were 
my brother still here asking these things of my 
love for him. I may no longer see how he holds 
me, but I feel in all my being that he still holds 
me as before, and hence that he exists. This is 
the natural thought of men. 

Maeterlinck brings it out in his symbolical 
drama, The Bluebird, when in the " Land of 
Memory " the children learn that the beloved live 
as long as they are remembered or their influence 
is felt. 



CHAPTER XXI 

THE REAL LIFE 

Recognizing this fact of the continuance of 
those who have lived, Henry George said at the 
funeral of his co-worker, Croasdale: 

" But that which we Instinctively feel as more 
than matter and more than energy: that which 
In thinking of our friend to-day we cherish as best 
and highest — that cannot be lost. If there be In 
the world order and purpose, that still lives." 

Jesus died a long time ago. His existence In 
the flesh was brief. We have no clear idea of his 
person; but the power of his wise and loving life, 
his attitude toward the world, and nothing else, 
acts to the present day upon millions who take his 
mental attitude to themselves and live according to 
It. The centuries have not lessened but rather in- 
creased his power. It Is acknowledged not only 
by Individuals and groups, but by whole races and 
peoples. *' I believe that nothing but the fulfill- 
ment of the doctrine of Jesus can give true happi- 
ness to men. I believe that the fulfillment of this 
doctrine Is possible, easy, and pleasant. I believe 

143 



144 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

that although none other should follow this doc- 
trine, and I alone were left to practice it, I cannot 
refuse to obey it. ... I believe that my life 
according to the doctrine of the world has been a 
torment, and that a life according to the doctrine 
of Jesus can alone give me in this world the happi- 
ness for which I was destined by the Father 
of Life." — (M. R., 265.) Nations are deemed 
civilized according to their acceptance or rejection 
of the power of Jesus' life, the life of a poor man 
devoid of material possessions, but rich in love. 
What is it that acts thus? What is it that was 
formerly bound up with the existence of Jesus in 
the flesh, and that constitutes the continuation and 
the growth of this life of his? Men have long 
sought some explanation of it that shall better fit 
with material ideas, but none is forthcoming. Wc 
cannot escape the conclusion that the power is 
his life that so acts. We may say that it is not 
the life of Jesus, but its results. And, having said 
these words, utterly destitute of meaning, we de- 
ceive ourselves into thinking that we have said 
something clearer and more definite than that this 
power is the living Jesus himself. 

Surely this is the way that ants might talk while 
clustered about an acorn that has grown up and 
become an oak. The oak tears up the soil with 
its roots, produces branches, leaves, and new 



THE REAL LIFE 145. 

acorns; it screens from the light and the rain, and 
changes everything that formerly grew around it. 
" This is not the life of the acorn," say the ants, 
*' but the results of its life, which came to an end 
when we dragged off the acorn, and buried it in 
the ground." This problem of the death of the 
flesh troubled those who shared the time of Jesus* 
short bodily existence, just as it troubles men to- 
day. He tried to teach them by parable, the only 
way he could make it clear to them, and by refer- 
ence to the laws of life governing their material 
world. He reminded them that a grain of corn 
put in the ground must first " die," as we call 
the transition, ere it produce life and fulfill the 
purpose of its existence. Every man who fulfills 
the law of life, submitting his animal personality 
to his reason, and to the manifestation of the 
power of love, has lived and, after the disappear- 
ance of his corporeal existence, will live through 
others with whom he is one. 

In order to save themselves from fear of death, 
some men try to assure themselves that the animal 
existence is their rational existence, and that the 
immortality of the animal race of men satisfies the 
demand for immortality that they bear within 
them. But they can realize immortality only by 
comprehending that real life is that eternal move- 
ment that in this life seems but as a wave. " As 



146 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

the swallow darting through thy halls," said the 
heathen philosopher, " such, O King, is the life of 
man." 

The great change In our position at the death 
of the body is terrible to us. We feel that we can- 
not understand how this thing may be, and that 
it must be evil. We ask, *' When this thinking, 
feeling ' I ' is cut off from the body through which 
It seems to express thought, feeling and action, 
what is to become of it? " How shall one know 
"himself" when this has happened? It is, in- 
deed, a terrible change, because It Is so great a 
change. 

But we forget that the same great change took 
place at our birth, and nothing evil came of It. 
On the contrary, so good a thing came of It that 
we do not wish to part with It at all. We wish 
to retain our visible life, forgetting that it Is but a 
part of the endless movement of life. 

However contracted may have been the sphere 
of man's activity, whether he be Jesus or Socrates, 
a woman, an obscure, self-sacrificing old man, or 
a mere youth, if he lives renouncing his person- 
ality for the happiness of others, he has already 
entered here. In this life, upon that new relation 
to the world that Is the real business of mankind. 

Our true life exists; we know It only; from it 
we know the animal life, and we know that this 



THE REAL LIFE 147 

semblance of life is subject to unchangeable laws. 
We see this on every hand in the material or visi- 
ble world and we accept it, feeling more secure 
because of the immutable nature of the laws gov- 
erning all that happens in this visible life. Why 
should not what happens in the invisible Hfe itself 
also be subject to laws, and to the results of those 
laws? 

To complain because I cannot now understand 
much that happened before my present visible life, 
and that which will take place after my death, is 
like complaining because I cannot see what is be- 
yond the limits of my eyesight. Is not all the 
" mystery of life " like the mystery of the forest, 
ominous and dark, both in front of us and behind, 
but light enough for each one where he is? In 
truth, " the mystery of life " seems to consist in 
trying to see behind things up to which we have 
not yet come. 

" But," persists the troubled consciousness, 
" though I cease to fear death for myself, it takes 
my wife, my child, my friends; this loss I cannot 
but feel, and I miss them sorely. That is a grief. 
How is it possible I should not fear that? " 

Such grief, however, is but a refined form of 
selfishness. The remembrance, the influence, in 
short the " spirit '^ of our dear ones is still with 
us, and still moves our thoughts and desires. It 



148 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

Is but our Individual gratification that we miss and 
lament. 

" That may be so," replies the erring conscious- 
ness again, " but It Is the gratification of our 
noblest part, the affection ; such gratification feeds 
the very love of which you talk." 

" True," answers the higher reason, " but In 
love for all, and In self-sacrifice on their behalf, 
Instead of In gratification by their means, those 
affections will find a larger field. In that larger 
love Is happiness instead of regret." 

And the narrower our love, the more pain we 
suffer from It; the largest love embraces, under- 
stands and forgives everything, and knows no dis- 
appointments, and no end. 



CHAPTER XXII 

THE USE OF PAIN 

The Inexpllcabllity of the sufferings of the 
earthly existence proves to man more clearly than 
anything else could prove It that his life Is not a 
mere personality that began at his birth, and ends 
at his death, since there could be no justification 
for the pain and disappointment he endures, if 
there were no more to life than the brief span of 
his bodily existence, nor could there be any ex- 
planation, which would not be fraught with hor- 
ror, of some experiences that men endure. 

Wolves rend a man alone In the forest, or a 
man Is drowned, frozen, or burned to death, or 
simply falls 111 alone and dies, and no one ever 
knows how he suffered. There are thousands of 
such cases. Of what use, we ask, can this suffer- 
ing be to anyone? 

For the man who understands his life as an 
animal existence there Is not, and cannot be, any 
answer to this question, because for such a man the 
bond between suffering and error, with Its cause 
and significance and teaching, lies only In what Is 

149 



ISO WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

visible to him, and this bond is lost to his mental 
vision in the sufferings that precede death. 

To such a man suffering is torture; he looks 
upon it as something he must endure because he 
is helpless to evade it, but he sees no sense in It, 
no necessity for it. The animal man either rebels 
or simply endures. But in the natural order, suf- 
fering is only a sensation that spurs to activity; 
the activity in turn banishes this painful sensation, 
and calls forth a state of pleasure. If the suffer- 
ing be our own physical or mental sensation, the 
pain is relieved by any effort on our part to relieve 
it, for this concentrates the attention upon the 
thing we are trying to do, and to that extent with- 
draws conscious attention from the pain itself. As 
the intensity of any suffering depends in large 
measure upon the degree of conscious recognition 
it wins from us, the decrease of attention decreases 
the pain; and as all pleasure is induced by the ac- 
tivity of man's body or mind, so the effort to help 
ourselves excites a pleasurable interest in what we 
are doing, and still further lessens the pain. The 
invalid Is to be the more pitied the more persons 
he has to wait upon him, to move him, and to an- 
ticipate his every desire — for all these persons 
deprive him of the activity which would dull the 
pain. Often such an Invalid unreasonably but in- 
stinctively resents the attentions. * 



THE USE OF PAIN 151 

This relief is even more marked where the suf- 
fering Is another's, especially a well-loved person's 
pain. We almost lose sight of his pain, and 
totally lose our own, If we are able to do some- 
thing for him to relieve the suffering. It Is when 
inaction rules that we suffer most keenly; but natu- 
rally suffering Induces effort to relieve Itself. Suf- 
fering, therefore, is that which preserves and moves 
life, and hence it Is what should be; then for what 
does man inquire when he asks: "Why, and to 
what end is suffering?" The beasts do not ask 
this. When the perch. In consequence of hunger, 
torments the dace, when the spider tortures the fly, 
or the wolf devours the sheep, each Is doing what 
must be, and each is accomplishing the thing that 
must be done; likewise, therefore, when the perch, 
the spider or the wolf fall Into like torments 
from stronger animals, they resist, wrench them- 
selves away and flee, but they accept what they are 
doing as part of the inevitable. In them there 
cannot be a question that what is happening to 
them Is what must happen In the course of Nature. 

" I remember once, when a bear attacked me 
and pressed me down under him, driving the claws 
of his enormous paw into my shoulder, I felt no 
pain. I lay under him and looked Into his warm, 
large mouth, with its wet, white teeth. He 
breathed above me, and I saw how he turned his 



152 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

head to get into position to bite into both my 
temples at once ; and in his hurry, or from excited 
appetite, he made a trial snap in the air just above 
my head, and again opened his mouth — that red, 
wet, hungry mouth, dripping with saliva. I felt 
I was about to die, and looked into the depths of 
that mouth, as one condemned to execution looks 
into the grave dug for him. I looked, and I re- 
member that I felt no fear or dread. I saw with 
one eye, beyond the outline of that mouth, a patch 
of blue sky gleaming between purple clouds 
roughly piled on one another, and I thought how 
lovely it was up there. . . . 

" I often remembered that moment afterwards; 
and now whenever I think of death, I picture that 
situation to myself, because I have never been 
nearer to death than then. I recall it, reflect on 
it, make comparisons, and see that death — real, 
serious and all-absorbing death — is, thank God, 
not dreadful. Everything becomes torpid then, 
and all that causes fear ceases to growl above one's 
head, and one's soul is easy and at peace. 

" Probably the lamb crunched by a wolf, the 
bird in the serpent's mouth, travelers attacked in 
a forest, and men from under whose feet the hang- 
man pushes the stool, feel the same." — (Maude's 
Life of Tolstoy, 74-5.) 

(Livingston, in his Travels, testifies to exactly 



THE USE OF PAIN 153 

similar feelings when he was knocked down and 
terribly bitten in the shoulder by a lion. — Ed.) 

The depression and horror of death that seem 
to affect animals at the shambles, may well be due 
to their unnatural subjection to the power of piti- 
less intelligence. It is not natural to them to stand 
and await death ; in their wild state they flee from 
danger until forced to face it; then, even gentle 
animals will turn upon the enemy, and defend 
themselves. At the shambles they are not able to 
follow nature's way — Man, not by strength, but 
by intelligence, controls them, and sends them to 
death to gratify his tastes. Something of this un- 
natural condition affects them, and they fear this 
power that controls them. Such fear Caliban 
might reasonably have of Setebos. 

I perceive the cause of my suffering to lie in my 
errors In the past, and in the errors of other per- 
sons. If my efforts are not directed to the cause 
of suffering — to those errors — and if I do not 
try to free myself from them, I neglect that which 
should be done, just as, if a man had a thorn in 
his foot which gave him pain, and caused the leg 
to swell, he could not get rid of the suffering by 
treating the swelling only, while allowing the 
thorn to remain. If we do not remove the cause 
of the suffering, suffering presents itself in a way 
in which it should not, and not only is it Increased 



154 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

In imagination, but it grows also in fact to fright- 
ful proportions that exclude all possibility of nor- 
mal life. 

The cause of suffering to the animal is the vio- 
lation of the law of animal life. While we live 
in harmony with the laws governing our physical 
or animal life, we suffer no physical pain, but vio- 
lation of these laws makes itself known by pain. 
The disturbance that this violation causes in the 
whole body is directed to the removal of the cause 
of the pain. What we regard as cruel torture, 
not connecting cause and effect, is in reality a 
beneficent provision whereby we learn that by pur- 
suing our present course we are violating some 
law that governs our well-being. If we could 
violate these laws with impunity, we might destroy 
the body before it had had an opportunity to ex- 
press the purposes of the spirit dwelling in it. 

The cause of suffering to rational consciousness 
is also found in a violation of law, and makes it- 
self known as " sin." It is this violation of law 
that leads to unhappiness and misery — the dis- 
turbance throughout the whole rational conscious- 
ness — and this disturbance Is really directed to the 
removal of the cause of the suffering — the " sin." 

" Sickness, weakness, and death play a necessary 
and beneficent part In our spiritual progress." — 
(M. L, 43-) 



CHAPTER XXIII 

THE BALM FOR SUFFERING 

As animal suffering Induces activity looking to- 
ward the removal of pain, and this activity allevi- 
ates the pain, so the sufferings of a rational being 
Induce activity directed toward removing the error 
— the Ill-doing on our part which has caused the 
suffering. This activity, this effort to undo the 
wrong, Itself helps to free suffering from Its hor- 
rors. All men know in the depths of their own 
souls that suffering Is indispensable to the happi- 
ness of their lives; for happiness Is a conscious 
state, and depends largely upon the activity of the 
individual: it is the harmony which arises from 
living In accordance with the higher law. If there 
were no suffering for violation of law, there would 
be no happiness from living in accord with law. 
So men go on living, foreseeing suffering, or sub- 
mitting to it. Their rebellion against suffering is 
due to their false view of life, which demands 
happiness for their personality only; this makes 
any Interference with personal happiness seem un- 
natural and, therefore, disturbing. 

155. 



156 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

Pain In the brute and in the child is well defined 
and slight in intensity, never attaining to that 
anguish that it reaches in beings endowed with ra- 
tional consciousness. (As Olive Schrelner says, 
" By every Inch we grow [mentally], our capacity 
for suffering Increases." — Ed.) 

In the being highly developed mentally and 
nervously, with the higher consciousness still un- 
awakened, the capacity for suffering is frequently 
so Intense that the brain breaks down organically 
from the strain, or, at best, the anguish is almost 
unendurable, and words are not adequate to ex- 
press it. In the case of a child, It sometimes cries 
as piteously from the sting of a wasp, as from an 
injury that destroys the vital organs. 

In a being that does not reason, not only Is the 
intensity of suffering less at the time, but also pain 
leaves little trace in the memory. Let anyone en- 
deavor to recall his childish sufferings from pain 
and he will see that he is Incapable of recon- 
structing them In Imagination. If we suffer pain 
from the recollection of childish experiences, it is 
less from any trace of suffering left In our memory 
than from our unconscious attribution of our pres- 
ent capacity for suffering to our childish selves 
and the building up of a new mental picture, rather 
than the reconstruction of the old.^ The Impres- 

^ There may be exceptions to this rule In the case of 



THE BALM FOR SUFFERING 157 

sion made on us by the sight of the suffering of 
children and of brutes is really more our suffering 
than theirs. 

Before the rational consciousness has been 
awakened, pain serves only as a protection to the 
person, and is not acute. Its intensity Is greatly 
lessened, even to the developed mind, if some spe- 
cial emotion not connected with the pain dominates 
the consciousness. Not to mention the martyrs, 
not to mention the troops of men, who, like Huss, 
sang In the fire at the stake, simple men, merely 
out of a desire to exhibit courage, will endure with- 
out a cry or a quiver, what are considered the most 
torturing of operations. There are limits to pain, 
but to the lessening of sensation under pain, there 
Is no limit. That lessening rests with the reason- 
ableness of the development. 

For persons who think their life lies in the ex- 
istence of the flesh the anguish of pain is frightful. 
Yet It is true, that had we been created without the 
feeling of pain, we should soon have begun to beg 
for It; for women, free from the pains of child- 
birth, would have brought forth children under 
conditions where hardly any would have remained 

children over-stimulated, or abnormally developed nerv- 
ously and mentally through too close association with 
adults who live chiefly in their emotions, but it holds 
good in normal children in normal surroundings. — (Ed.) 



158^ WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

alive ; ^ children and young people would have 
spoiled their bodies, and grown people would have 
known neither the errors of those who had lived 
before them, nor, what is most important of all, 
their own errors. In this life, had there been no 
pain, men would have had no rational object of 
existence, for they would not have known what 
they must do: they could never have reconciled 
themselves to the idea of impending death in the 
flesh, and they would not have known love, because 
they would have lacked opportunity for its un- 
selfish exercise. 

And just as, were there no physical pain, man 
would have no indication when he transgresses the 
laws of nature: so if rational consciousness suf- 
fered no pain, man would not know the law, that 
IS to say, would not know the Truth. 

" Ah,'* someone may retort, " you are talking 
about your personal sufferings, but how can you 
ignore the sufferings of others? The sight of 
these sufferings constitutes the most active suffer- 
ing in the observer." This they say not in full 
sincerity, though they may not be conscious of in- 

^ Even now our social and economic conditions are so 
bad that It is estimated that two out of four or five born 
die before reaching the age of five years. It Is only our 
horror at such tragedies that slowly Induces us to try to 
improve social conditions. — (Ed.) 



THE BALM FOR SUFFERING 159 

sincerity. For sympathy which is aroused in us 
by the sight or knowledge of suffering, is really 
a healthful and natural emotion. If we do noth- 
ing in response to this emotion we create a morbid 
state of mind which is detrimental to health and 
development. This is common among readers of 
sensational novels who have their feelings stirred 
by the conditions and sufferings of imaginary be- 
ings portrayed so graphically by the novelist, yet 
who do not guide their emotions into any channel 
of activity for the betterment of actual conditions. 
If, however, we bend every energy, and exert 
every power to relieve the suffering that appeals 
to us, sympathy with it ceases to be a pain. We 
feel even a pleasure in our activity, and in its 
partial success in relieving the suffering, and yet 
more in remedying the evil that causes it. Above 
all, we find that it calls forth in ourselves, as well 
as in others, the feeling of Love. 

Activity directed to the immediate, loving serv- 
ice of the suffering and to the diminution of error, 
which is the general cause of suffering, is the only 
joyful labor that lies before man, and gives him 
that happiness in which life consists. 

No claim of novelty is made for this teaching. 
It is that of Christianity — of the Christianity of 
the Sermon on the Mount, as distinguished from 
that of the Council of Nicea. It virtually says to 



i6o WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

us: " Renounce your selfish ends; love all men, 
all creatures, and devote your life to them. You 
will then be conscious of possessing the joy of the 
Spirit and conscious of true life, which Is eternal, 
and to you there will be no death." 

The sum of the matter Is this: The life of 
man is a striving after happiness, and that for 
which he strives is given to enlightened man. 

Evil, in the form of suffering and death, Is visi- 
ble to man only when he takes the law of his cor- 
poreal animal existence for the law of his inner 
life. Only when he, being a man, redescends to 
the level of the beast, does he even see death and 
suffering. 

Happiness Is to be found in the service of our 
fellow creatures, through which service we come 
to be one with the mind of the Universe. It does 
not depend upon what success we may see in this 
service. The effort to remove the causes of the 
sufferings of others, and especially to enable them 
to think rightly, so that they may themselves avoid 
evil. Is In itself a joy. 

Death and suffering are only crimes committed 
by man against the law of life in himself or In 
others. For a man who lives according to his law, 
there Is no death and no suffering. 

" O death, where is thy sting? 
O grave, where is thy victory ? " 



PART II 
ON ACTION 



The remainder of this volume consists of cita- 
tions from Tolstoy. As explained in the Intro- 
duction, all the following are the very words of 
Tolstoy, except for an occasional connecting sen- 
tence which is plainly indicated. The translations, 
mostly taken from My Confession, My Religion, 
What is Art? and What to Do, after comparison 
where possible with the original or with French 
versions, from T. Y. Crowell & Co.'s editions, the 
right of reproduction having been purchased, and 
from Aylmer Maude's translations, mostly In his 
Life of Tolstoy (Dodd, Mead & Co.). Proba- 
bly it will surprise many persons to see how they 
reinforce, amplify and carry to their logical con- 
clusions, the doctrines laid down In the book On 
Life, the summary of which forms the first part of 
this book. 

The essence of Tolstoy's interpretation of prac- 
tical life, his creed, if he may be said to have had 
a creed. Is succinctly set out In this part; It Is 
mostly quoted from Maude because " It was ap- 
proved by Tolstoy himself, so that one Is sure it 
represents his meaning correctly." — (Maude's 
Life of Tolstoy, 32. Also Preface to v. II., p. v.) 



CHAPTER I 

PROBLEMS 

I MIGHT have understood how absurd It was of 
me, while educating my own children In complete 
idleness and luxury, to hope to correct other peo- 
ple and their children, who were perishing from 
Idleness In what I called the Rzhanof den: (a 
large Municipal Lodging House. — Ed.) where 
three-fourths of the people work for themselves 
and for others. But I understood nothing of all 
that— (M. L., 134.) 

Everything now being done in Russia is done in 
the name of the general welfare, In the name of 
the protection and tranquillity of the inhabitants of 
Russia. And If this is so, then It Is also all done 
for me, who live In Russia. For me, therefore, 
exists the destitution of the people, deprived of 
the first, most natural right of man — the right 
to use the land on which he is born; for me the 
half-million men torn away from wholesome peas- 
ant life and dressed In uniforms and taught to kill; 
for me that false so-called priesthood, whose chief 
duty It Is to pervert and conceal true Christianity; 

163 



1 64 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

for me all these transportations of men from place 
to place; for me these hundreds of thousands of 
hungry workmen wandering about Russia ; for me 
these hundreds of thousands of unfortunates dying 
of typhus and scurvy in the fortresses and prisons 
which do not suffice for such a multitude; for me 
the mothers, wives and fathers of the exiles, the 
prisoners, and those who are hanged, are suffer- 
ing; for me these dozens and hundreds of men 
have been shot; for me the horrible work goes on 
of these hangmen, at first enlisted with difficulty, 
but who now no longer so loathe their work; for 
me exist these gallows, and well-soaped cords from 
which hang women, children and peasants; for me 
exists this terrible embitterment of man against his 
fellow-man. 

Strange as is the statement that all this is done 
for me, and that I am a participator In these terri- 
ble deeds, I cannot but feel that there is an indubi- 
table Interdependence between my spacious room, 
my dinner, my clothing, my leisure, and these terri- 
ble crimes committed to get rid of those who 
would like to take from me what I use. And 
though I know that these homeless, embittered, 
depraved people — who but for the Government's 
threats would deprive me of all I am using — arc 
products of that same Government's actions, still 
I cannot help feeling that, at present, my peace 



PROBLEMS 165 

really is dependent on all the horrors that are now 
being perpetrated by the Government. 

And being conscious of this, I can no longer 
endure it, but must free myself from this intolera- 
ble position! It is impossible to live so! I, at 
any rate, cannot and will not live so. — (M. L., 
634, 635.) 

As to the relation, I do not say of a Christian, 
but simply of a reasonable man to taxation there 
can be no question — as with all demands to par- 
ticipate in governmental crimes, a Christian can- 
not fail to try to free himself from such participa- 
tion. — (M. L,, 570.) 

" The powers that be are ordained by God," 
says Paul. Which powers? Those of Pougat- 
chef (The rebel leader who for a while held the 
Volga Provinces under his sway. — Ed.) or those 
of Catherine II? —(M. L., 41.) 

I believe in this : I believe In God, whom I 
understand as Spirit, as Love, as the Source of 
all. I believe that He Is In me and I In Him. I 
believe that the will of God is most clearly and 
intelligibly expressed In the teaching of the man 
Jesus, to consider, and pray to whom, as God, I 
esteem the greatest blasphemy. I believe that 
man's true welfare lies in fulfilling God's will, and 
His will Is that men should love one another, and 
should consequently do to others as they wish 



1 66 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

others to do to them — of which it is said in the 
Gospels that in this is the law and the prophets. I 
believe, therefore, that the meaning of the life of 
every man is to be found only in increasing the love 
that is in him; that this increase of love leads man, 
even in this life, to ever greater and greater blessed- 
ness, and after death gives him the more blessed- 
ness the more love he has, and helps more than any- 
thing else towards the establishment of the King- 
dom of God on earth : that is, to the establishment 
of an order of life in which the discord, deception, 
and violence that now rule will be replaced by free 
accord, by truth, and by the brotherly love of 
one for another. I believe that to obtain progress 
in love there is only one means, prayer — not 
pubhc prayer in churches, plainly forbidden by 
Jesus, but private prayer, like the sample given us 
by Jesus, consisting of the renewing and strength- 
ening, in our own consciousness, of the meaning of 
our hfe and of our complete dependence on the 
will of God.— (M. L., 580.) 

I deny the incomprehensible Trinity; the fable, 
which is altogether meaningless in our time, of the 
fall of the first man; the blasphemous story of a 
God born of a Virgin to redeem the human race. 
But God, a Spirit; God, love; the only God — the 
Source of all — I not only do not deny, but I at- 
tribute real existence to God alone, and I see the 



PROBLEMS / 167 

whole meaning of life only In fulfilling His Will, 
which Is expressed In the Christian teaching. — 
(M.L., 579.) 

If one is to understand, by life beyond tha^rave, 
the Second Advent, a hell with eternal 'torments, 
devils, and a Paradise of perpetual happiness — 
It Is perfectly true that I do not acknowledge 
such a life beyond the grave; but eternal life and 
retribution here and everywhere, now and for 
ever, I acknowledge to such an extent that, stand- 
ing now, at my age, on the verge of my grave, I 
often have to make an effort to restrain myself 
from desiring the death of this body — that Is, the 
birth of a new life; and I believe every good action 
Increases the true welfare of my eternal life, and 
every evil action decreases It. — (Answer to the De- 
cree of the Synod.) 

No religion has ever preached things so evi- 
dently Incompatible with reason and with contem- 
porary knowledge, or so Immoral, as the doctrines 
preached by Church-Chrlstlanlty. Not to speak 
of all the absurdities of the Old Testament, such 
as the creation of light before the sun, the creation 
of the world 6,000 years ago, the housing of all 
the animals In the Ark; or of the many Immoral 
horrors, such as Injunctions to massacre children 
and whole populations at God's command; . . . 
not to dwell on all that, what can be more ab- 



1 68 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

surd than that the Mother of God was both a 
mother and a virgin; that the sky opened and a 
voice spoke from up there; that Christ flew into 
the sky and sits somewhere at the right hand of 
his Father; or that God Is both One and Three, 
not three Gods like Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva, but 
One and yet Three? And what can be more im- 
moral than the terrible doctrine that an angry and 
revengeful God punishes all men for Adam's sin, 
and sent His son to earth to save them, knowing 
beforehand that men would kill him and would 
therefore be damned, and that salvation from sin 
depends on being baptized; or in believing that all 
these things really happened, and that the son of 
God was killed by men that men might be saved, 
and that God will punish with eternal torments 
those who do not believe this? — {M. L., 599.) 

'' It Is very well argued that Christ never existed, 
the probability Is as strong against as for it. . . . 
The moral teaching of goodness . . . flows not 
from any one source in time or space, but from the 
whole spiritual life of humanity In its entirety." — 
(M.L., 56.) 

In the New Testament, Tolstoy frankly dis- 
likes and disapproves of much in the Epistles of 
Paul, whom he accuses of having given a fatal bias 
to Christianity, which enabled the Church to ally 
itself with the State, and prevented the majority of 



PROBLEMS 169 

men from understanding what Jesus meant. 
Paul's mind was of an administrative, organizing 
type, foreign and repugnant to Tolstoy's anarchis- 
tic nature, which Instinctively resents anything that, 
aiming at practical results, tolerates imperfect in- 
stitutions. — (M. L., 41.) 

Here are the five Commandments of Christ; 
an attempt to follow them would alter our whole 
society. 

" I found in the Gospels an explanation of the 
meaning of life that perfectly satisfied, one higher 
than anything I had known or could Imagine." — 
(S. C. T., 152.) 

1. Ye have heard that it was said to them of 
old time. Thou shalt not kill; and whosoever shall 
kill shall be In danger of the judgment : but I say 
unto you, that every one who Is angry with his 
brother shall be In danger of the judgment. (Do 
not be angry.) 

2. Ye have heard that It was said, Thou shalt 
not commit adultery : but I say unto you, that every 
one that looketh on a woman to lust after her, hath 
committed adultery with her already In his heart. 
The second great rule of conduct Is: (Do not 
lust.) 

3. Again, ye have heard that It was said to 
them of old time, Thou shalt not forswear thy- 
self, but shalt perform unto the Lord thine 'oaths: 



I70 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

but I say unto you, Swear not at all. . . . But 
let your speech be, Yea, yea; Nay, nay. (Do not 
give away the control of your future actions.) 

4. Ye have heard that It was said. An eye for 
an eye, and a tooth for a tooth : but I say unto you, 
Resist not him that is evil; but whoso smites thee 
on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. 

5. Ye have heard that It was said. Thou shalt 
love thy neighbor and hate thine enemy: but I 
say unto you. Love your enemies . . . that ye 
may be sons of your Father which Is In Heaven; 
for He maketh His sun to rise on the evil and the 
good, and sendeth rain on the just and the unjust. 
For If ye love them that love you . . . What 
do ye more than others? Do not even the 
Gentiles (foreigners, Germans, etc.) the same? 
Ye therefore shall be perfect, as your heavenly 
Father is perfect. — (M. L., 33-7.) 



CHAPTER II 

RELIGION 

" When Count Tolstoy speaks of the Church 
and its dogmas, he refers especially, of course, to 
the Orthodox Greek Church, the national Church 
of Russia." (Translator's note to M. R., Ap- 
pendix, Ed. 1885, p. I.) 

The First commandment of Jesus tells us to 
be at peace with everyone and to consider none as 
foolish or unworthy. If peace is violated, we are 
to seek to reestablish it. The true religion is in 
the extinction of enmity among men. We are to 
be reconciled without delay, that we may not lose 
that inner peace which is the true life (Matt, v, 
22-24). Everything is comprised in this com- 
mandment; but Jesus knew the worldly temptations 
that prevent peace among men. The first tempta- 
tion perilous to peace is that of the sexual rela- 
tion. We are not to consider the body as an in- 
strument of lust; each man is to have one wife, and 
each woman one husband, and one is never to for- 
sake the other under any pretext. (Matt. V, 28- 
32.) 

171 



fi72 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

I cannot make any distinction between unions 
that are called by the name of marriage, and those 
that are denied this name. I am obliged to con- 
sider as sacred and absolute the sole and unique 
union by which man is once for all indissolubly 
bound to the first woman with whom he has been 
united. — (M. R., 270.) The second temptation 
is that of the oath, which draws men into sin; 
this is wrong, and we are not to be bound by any 
such promise (Matt, v, 34-37) . The third temp- 
tation is that of vengeance, which we call human 
justice; this we are not to resort to under any pre- 
text; we are to endure offenses and never to re- 
turn evil for evil (Matt, v, 38-42). The fourth 
temptation is that arising from difference in nation- 
alities, from hostility between peoples and States; 
but we are to remember that all men are brothers, 
and children of the same Father, and thus take care 
that difference in nationality leads not to the de- 
struction of peace (Matt, v, 43-48). — (M. R., 
160.) 

What is the law of nature? Is it to know that 
my security and that of my family, all my amuse- 
ments and pleasures, are purchased at the expense 
of misery, deprivation, and suffering to thousands 
of human beings — by the terror of the gallows: 
by the misfortune of thousands stifling within prison 
walls ; by the fears inspired by millions of soldiers 



RELIGION 173 

and guardians of civilization, torn from their homes 
and besotted by discipline, to protect our pleasures 
with loaded revolvers against the possible inter- 
ference of the famishing ? Is it to purchase every 
fragment of bread that I put in my mouth and the 
mouths of my children by the numberless priva- 
tions that are necessary to procure my abundance? 
Or is it to be certain that my piece of bread only 
belongs to me when I know that everyone else has 
a share, and that no one starves while I eat? — 
{M.R., Ed. 1885, 46.) 

Jesus said, simply and clearly, that the law of 
resistance to evil by violence, which has been made 
the basis of society, is false, and contrary to man's 
nature; . . . "You believe" (he says in 
substance) *' that your laws, which resort to vio- 
lence, correct evil; not at all; they only augment it. 
For thousands of years you have tried to destroy 
evil by evil, and you have not destroyed it; you 
have only augmented It. Do as I command you, 
follow my example, and you will know that my 
doctrine Is true." Not only In words, but by his 
acts, by his death, did Jesus propound his doc- 
trine, '* Resist not evil."— (M. R., Ed. 1885, 40- 

41.) 

Two classes of men would never, even by Impli- 
cation, admit the literal interpretation of the law 
" Resist not evil." These men were at the ex- 



174 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

treme poles of the social scale — they were the 
conservative Christian patriots who maintained the 
infallibility of the Church, and the atheistic revo- 
lutionists. Neither of these two classes was willing 
to renounce the right to resist by violence what 
they regarded as evil. And the wisest and most 
intelligent among them would not acknowledge the 
simple and evident truth, that if we once admit the 
right of any man to resist by violence what he re- 
gards as evil, every other man has equally the 
right to resist by violence what he regards as evil. 
— (M. R,, 107.) 

We have only to examine closely the compli- 
cated mechanism of our institutions that arc based 
upon coercion to realize that coercion and violence 
are contrary to human nature. The judge who has 
condemned according to the code, is not willing 
to hang the criminal with his own hands; no clerk 
would tear a villager from his weeping family and 
cast him Into prison; the general or the soldier, 
unless he be hardened by discipline and service, 
will not undertake to slay a hundred Turks or 
Germans or destroy a village, he would not, if he 
could help It, kill a single man. Yet all these 
things are done, thanks to the administrative 
machinery which divides responsibility for misdeeds 
In such a way that no one feels them to be con- 
trary to nature. — (M. R., m.) 



RELIGION 175, 

When I had read these comments, I understood 
that unless I excepted from the oaths forbidden 
by Jesus the oath of fidelity to the State, the com- 
mandment was as insignificant as superficial, and 
as easy to practice as I had supposed. — (M. R., 

I43-) 

The doctrine of Jesus is to bring the kingdom of 
God upon earth. The practice of this doctrine is 
not difficult; and not only so, its practice is a 
natural expression of the belief of all who recog- 
nize the truth. The doctrine of Jesus offers the 
only possible chance of salvation for those who 
would escape the perdition that threatens the per- 
sonal life. The fulfillment of this doctrine not 
only will deliver men from the privations and suf- 
ferings of this life, but will put an end to nine- 
tenths of the suffering endured in behalf of the 
doctrine of the world. — (M. R., 238.) 

If the practice of the doctrine of the world 
were easy, agreeable, and without danger, we 
might perhaps believe that the practice of the 
doctrine of Jesus is difficult, frightful, and cruel. 
But the doctrine of the world is much more diffi- 
cult, more dangerous, and more cruel, than is the 
doctrine of Jesus. Formerly, we are told, there 
were martyrs for the cause of Jesus; but they 
were exceptional. We cannot count up more than 
about three hundred and eighty thousand of them, 



176 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

voluntary and Involuntary, in the whole course 
of eighteen hundred years; but who shall count 
the martyrs of the doctrine of the world? For 
each Christian martyr there have been a thousand 
martyrs to the doctrine of the world, and the 
sufferings of each one of them have been a 
hundred times more cruel than those endured 
by others. The number of the victims of wars 
In our century alone amounts to thirty millions 
of men. There are the martyrs to the doctrine of 
the world, who would have escaped suffering 
and death even if they had refused to follow 
the doctrine of the world, to say nothing of 
following the doctrine of Jesus. — (Af. R., 226.) 
" But there are wicked men among compatriots; 
they will attack a Christian, and If the Christian 
do not defend himself, will pillage and massacre 
him and his family." No ; they will not do so. If 
all the members of this family are Christians, and 
consequently hold their lives only for the service 
of others, no man will be found insane enough to 
deprive such people of the necessaries of life or to 
kill them. The famous Maclay lived among the 
most bloodthirsty of savages; they did not kill 
him, they reverenced him and followed his teach- 
ings, simply because he did not fear them, exacted 
nothing from them, and treated them always with 
kindness. — (M. R., 276.) 



RELIGION 177 

Exile and imprisonment and death afford to the 
Christian the possibiHty of bearing witness of the 
truth, not in words, but in acts. Violence, war, 
brigandage, executions, are not accomplished 
through the forces of unconscious nature ; they are 
accomplished by men who are blinded, and do 
not know the truth. Consequently, the more evil 
these men do to Christians, the further they are 
from the truth, the more unhappy they are, and 
the more necessary it is that they should have 
knowledge of the truth. Now a Christian cannot 
make known his knowledge of truth except by 
abstaining from the errors that lead men into 
evil; he must render good for evil. — (M. R., 

277-) 

A true Christian cannot claim any rights of 
property. . . . All that he uses, a Christian only 
uses till somebody takes it from him. — (M. L., 

359-) 

True Christians will always prefer to be killed 
by a madman rather than to deprive him of his 
liberty. . . . Anoutchin asked Tolstoy, " May I 
kill a wolf that attacks me ? " He replied : " No, 
you must not; for if we may kill a wolf, we may 
also kill a dog, and a man, and there will be no 
limit! Such cases are quite exceptional; and if 
we once admit that we may kill, and may resist evil, 
— evil and falsehood will reign in the whole world 



178 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

unchecked, as we see is now the case." — (M. L., 
358-9, 476.) 

Jesus said that we were not to be angry, and not 
to consider ourselves as better than others; if we 
were angry, and offended others, so much the worse 
for us. Again, he said that we were to avoid 
libertinism, and to that end choose one woman, to 
whom we should remain faithful. Once more, he 
said that we were not to bind ourselves by promises 
or oaths to the service of those who may constrain 
us to commit acts of folly or wickedness. Then he 
said that we were not to return evil for evil, lest 
the evil rebound upon ourselves with redoubled 
force. And, finally, he says that we are not to con- 
sider men as foreigners because they dwell in an- 
other country and speak a language different from 
our own. And the conclusion is, that if we avoid 
ioing any of these foolish things, we shall be happy. 
— (M. R., 227, also Ed. 1885, 194.) 

While I now see that anger is an abnormal, per- 
nicious, and morbid state, I also perceive the temp- 
tation that led me into it. The temptation was in 
separating myself from my fellows, recognizing 
only a few of them as my equals, and regarding 
all the others as persons of no account (raca) or 
as uncultivated animals (fools). I see now that 
this willful separation from other men, this judg- 
ment of raca or fool passed upon others, was the 



i 



RELIGION 179 

principal source of my disagreements. In looking 
over my past life I saw that I had rarely permitted 
my anger to rise against those whom I considered 
as my equals, whom I seldom abused. But the 
least disagreeable action on the part of one whom I 
considered an Inferior Inflamed my anger and led 
me to abusive words or actions, and the more su- 
perior I felt myself to be, the less careful I was 
of my temper. — (M. R,, 267.) 

I understand now why those that are great In 
the sight of men are an abomination to God, and 
why woe is threatened the rich and mighty and 
blessedness is promised the poor and humble. 
. . . Now, I can no longer give my support to 
anything that lifts me above or separates me from 
others. I cannot, as I once did, recognize in my- 
self or others titles or ranks or qualities aside from 
the title and quality of manhood. I can no longer 
seek for fame and glory; I can no longer cultivate 
a system of instruction which separates me from 
men. I cannot in my surroundings, my food, my 
clothing, my manners, strive for what not only 
separates me from others but renders me a re- 
proach to the majority of mankind. — (M. R, 
267-8.) 



CHAPTER III 

THE CHURCH 

The Christian Church has recognized and sanc- 
tioned divorce, slavery, tribunals, all earthly 
powers, the death penalty, and war; it has exacted 
nothing except a renunciation on the occasion of 
baptism of a purpose to do evil, and this only in its 
early days; later on, when infant baptism was in- 
troduced, even this requirement was no longer ob- 
served. 

The Church confesses the doctrine of Jesus In 
theory, but denies It in practice. — (M. R.^ 247.) 
One of the organs of the doctrine of Jesus, it has 
fulfilled Its mission and Is now useless. The world 
cannot be bound to the Church ; but the deliverance 
of the world from the Church will not ensure life. 
— iM.R.,25B.) 

Believe, If you will, in paradise. In hell. In the 
pope, In the Church, In the sacraments, In the re- 
demption; pray according to the dictates of your 
faith, attend upon your devotions, sing your 
hymns, — but all this will not prevent you from 
practicing the five commandments given by Jesus 

180 



I 



THE CHURCH i8i 

foryour welfare: . . . But, do not calmly sit 
down as you do now, and so organize your exist- 
ence as to render it a task of extreme difficulty not 
to be angry, not to commit adultery, not to take 
oaths, not to resist evil, not to make war; organize 
rather an existence which shall render the doing of 
all these things as difficult as the non-performance 
of them is now laborious. — (M. R., 263.) 

Let us suppose that you are an unbeliever, a 
philosopher, it matters not of what special school. 
. . . The doctrine of Jesus does not oppose 
your views ; it is in harmony with the law that you 
have discovered. But, aside from this law . . . 
there is still your own personal life to be con- 
sidered. This life you can use by living in con- 
formity to reason, and you have now for its guid- 
ance no rule whatever, except the decrees drawn up 
by men whom you do not esteem, and enforced by 
the police. The doctrine of Jesus offers you rules 
which are assuredly in accord with your law of 
" altruism," which is nothing but a feeble para- 
phrase of this same doctrine of Jesus. — (M. R., 
263.) 

The arbitrary separation of the metaphysical and 
ethical aspects of Christianity entirely disfigures the 
doctrine, and deprives it of every sort of meaning. 
The separation began with the preaching of Paul, 
who knew but imperfectly the ethical doctrine set 



i82 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

forth in the Gospel of Matthew, and who preached 
a metaphyslco-cabahstic theory entirely foreign 
to the doctrine of Jesus; and this theory was per- 
fected under Constantine, when the existing pagan 
social organization was proclaimed Christian 
simply by covering it with the mantle of Chris- 
tianity. The Church in spite of all Constantine's 
crimes and vices admits that arch-pagan to the 
category of the saints ; after him began the domina- 
tion of the councils and the center of gravity of 
Christianity was permanently displaced till only 
the metaphysical portion was left in view. And 
this metaphysical theory with its accompanying 
ceremonial deviated more and more from its true 
and primitive meaning, until it has reached its 
present stage of development, as a doctrine which 
explains the mysteries of a celestial life beyond 
the comprehension of human reason, and, with all 
its complicated formulas, gives no religious guid- 
ance whatever with regard to the regulations of 
this earthly life. — (M. R., 245-6.) 

Let it be considered that these selected Gospels 
are the work of many human minds, that during 
centuries they underwent endless revisions, that 
all the Gospels of the fourth century which have 
reached us are written without punctuation or di- 
vision into verse and chapter, and that the actual 
number of different renderings for Gospel pas- 



THE CHURCH 183 

sages is estimated at fifty thousand. — {S. C. T.) 
The Church composed of men united, not by 
promises or sacraments, but by deeds of truth and 
love, has always hved and will live forever. 
. . . The members of this Church know that 
life is to them a blessing as long as they maintain 
fraternity with others and dwell in the fellowship 
of the son of man. . . . And so the mem- 
bers of this Church practice the commandments of 
Jesus and thereby teach them to others. Whether 
this Church be in numbers little or great, it is, 
nevertheless, the Church that shall never perish, 
the Church that shall finally unite within its bonds 
the hearts of all mankind. — (M. R., 278.) 



CHAPTER IV 

THE SCHOOL 

Tolstoy used the school as a laboratory for ex- 
periments. He has the habit of mind of question- 
ing all traditions and customs in all realms of 
thought and activity, and of making them answer 
for themselves, and he carried it with him into 
the field of education. — {Tolstoy as a School- 
master^ 23, By Ernest H. Crosby.) 

Tolstoy does not believe in interfering in the 
fights of children. The master throws himself 
between them to separate them, and the two ene- 
mies look at each other angrily. Unable to re- 
strain themselves even in the presence of the 
master whom they fear, they end by grappling 
with each other more hotly than ever. How 
many times on the same day do I see Kirouschka, 
with set teeth, fall upon Taraska, seize him by 
the hair and throw him down; it looks as if he 
wished to disfigure him and leave him for dead. 
But before a moment has passed Taraska is al- 
ready laughing under Kirouschka and turns the 
tables on him. In five minutes they are good 

184 



i 



THE SCHOOL 185 

friends again, sitting side by side. — {T. S. M., 

II-) 

To my mind, this disorder on the surface is 
useful and necessary, however strange and irk- 
some it may seem to the master. ... In the 
first place, this disorder, or rather this free order, 
only appears frightful to us because we are ac- 
customed to an entirely different system, accord- 
ing to which we have been educated ourselves. 
Secondly, in this case, as in many others, the use of 
force is founded only upon an inconsiderate and 
disrespectful interpretation of human nature. It 
seems as if the disorder were gaining and growing 
from instant to instant, as if nothing could stop 
it but coercion, when, if wc only wait a moment, 
we see the disorder (like a fire) go down of itself 
and produce an order much better and more stable 
than that which we should substitute for it. 

He insists that throughout the children should 
be treated as reasoning and reasonable beings, who 
will find out for themselves that order is neces- 
sary, but who resent forcible interference, Inde- 
pendent of their own experience. — ( T. S. M,, 
9, 10.) 

In the world which calls Itself practical, the 
world of the Palmerstons and Cains (Tolstoy 
wrote this in the early sixties), the world which 
holds for reasonable not that which is reasonable 



1 86 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

but that which is practical — there, in that world, 
let the people arrogate to themselves the right 
of duty and punishing. But our world of chil- 
dren, of beings simple and frank, should be kept 
free from falsehood and from this criminal be- 
lief in the propriety of chastisement, from this 
theory that vengeance is just, as soon as we call 
it punishment. — (T. S, M., i6.) 

A healthy child, when he comes into the world, 
realizes completely the absolute harmony with the 
true, the beautiful, and the good which we carry 
in us; he is still in touch with inanimate things, 
with plant and animal life, with that nature which 
personifies in our eyes that true, beautiful and 
good which we seek and long for. . . . But 
every hour of life, every minute of time, disturbs 
more and more those relations which, when he was 
born, were in a perfectly harmonious equilibrium, 
and every step, every hour, violates this harmony. 

Education perverts a child, it cannot correct 
him. The more he is perverted, the less must we 
educate him, and the more does he need free- 
dom.— (T. S, M., 30.) 

There is in a school, something undefined, which 
is almost entirely independent of the master's con- 
trol, something absolutely unknown to the science 
of pedagogy, and which constitutes notwithstand- 
ing the very foundation of success in teaching ^s* 



THE SCHOOL 187 

it Is the spirit of the school. The master has 
indeed a negative influence upon it, for unless he 
abstains from certain things, he may destroy it. 
This spirit Increases in proportion as the master 
allows the pupils to think for themselves, and 
with the number of pupils, and it decreases in 
proportion as the lessons a/id hours are lengthened. 
It communicates itself from child to child and to 
the teacher himself, and shows Itself in the sound 
of the voice. In looks, in gestures, In rivalries — 
something very palpable, necessary and precious, 
and which consequently every master ought to 
cherish. It is a spirit of ardor which is as neces- 
sary to intellectual nourishment as the saliva is to 
digestion. It cannot be artificially produced, but 
it springs from life of Itself. It Is the teacher's 
duty to find some useful object for this spirit to 
spend itself upon, and not to try to quench it. — 

{T.s.M.,34.) 

The more a people advances, the more does 
true education desert the school for the region of 
real life outside. And the effort of a school which 
wishes to adapt itself to this progress should be 
to answer the questions suggested by the home life 
of the pupil, for it Is in his home and among his 
neighbors that he is brought face to face with life. 
The prevailing education of the day Tolstoy con- 
demns as moral despotism, the determination of 



1 88 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

one individual to make another individual exactly 
like himself, and this he declares to be unjustifi- 
able Invasion of the rights of the individual. We 
have no ethical right to do it. That the pupils 
should come to learn of their own accord, when 
they desire it, is a conditio sine qua non of all 
fruitful teaching, just as in feeding it is a conditio 
sine qua non that the eater should be hungry. The 
sole basis of education is freedom — the freedom 
of the people to organize their own schools, and 
of the pupil to make up his own mind as to what 
he will learn and how he will learn It. And ex- 
perience alone can point out the best method by 
indicating the most natural rapport between 
teacher and scholars. In each concrete case the 
actual degree of liberty will depend upon the 
master's talents and sympathy, but he Insists upon 
the general principle that the less the restraint the 
better the school. — ( T. S. M., 44-46.) 

Children should be taught as little as possible, 
for it Is much worse (than lack of instruction) 
that they should get educational indigestion and 
come to detest education. — {T. S. M., 49.) 
The very little ones, if they are normally brought 
up, will themselves ask for lessons and Insist on 
regularity. . . . Yesterday there was a les- 
son after dinner, and to-day they desire one after 
dinner.— (r. S. M., 47.X 



THE SCHOOL 189 

Text-books usually begin with general Ideas, 
those of grammar with adjectives, those of history 
with divisions into periods, those of geometry 
with definition of space and of the mathematical 
point; but these general ideas are the hardest to 
comprehend, and the child must begin with some- 
thing tangible, related to his own common ex- 
periences. — (T, S. M,, 25.) 

It would be as sensible to examine a man of 
forty in his knowledge of geography as to examine 
a man of ten. You have to live for months with 
a person to find out what he knows. And where 
examinations are made a feature of education they 
become an end In themselves, and the student 
no longer really learns philosophy or history, but 
he learns the altogether distinct art of answering 
examination questions, a totally useless branch of 
study. — (r. S, M.y 32.) Children like history 
only when it Is vivified by art. They have no in- 
terest in history as such, and the phrase " a child's 
history " is an absurdity. — {T. S, M., 41.) 

With regard to drawing and music — the 
teaching of the piano is a glaring example of 
wrongly organized Instruction. As with drawing, 
so also with music — children should be taught 
to make use of the means which are always at 
hand (In drawing to use chalk, charcoal, pencil; 
in music to be able to communicate what they see 



I90 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

and hear through the medium of their own voices.) 
This to begin with.^— (T. S. M., 47-48.) 

Under the head of enlightenment is included 
working for one's self and family and for others, 
cleaning, putting in order, cooking, preparing fuel, 
and so forth. The other half of the time I would 
give to instruction. I would let the pupil choose 
out of seven subjects the one to which he is at- 
tracted. With regard to the teaching of lan- 
guages, the more languages are taught the better. 
I think French and German should be taught by- 
all means, English and Esperanto if possible. 
And one should teach by inviting the pupil to 
read in the language he is learning a book with 
which he is acquainted in his native language, en- 
deavoring to grasp the general sense and inciden- 
tally observing the most important words, their 
roots and grammatical forms. — (T, S, M,, 47- 

48.) 

I do not believe in exercising coercion on my 
fellow-men, and hence I cannot undertake to exe- 
cute or imprison them directly or indirectly. Let 
him who is without sin cast the first stone. Who 
am I to act as judge ? And as people come gradu- 

^ Tolstoy regards enlightenment as part of education 
as do all educators, but his estimate of " enlightenment " 
differs from that of the average educationist. — (Ed.) 



THE SCHOOL 191 

ally round to my opinion, there will be fewer and 
fewer left who will be willing to act as hangmen 
and jailers and warders, until finally such profes- 
sions disappear. — {T, S, M., 74-75. X 



CHAPTER V 

ART 

We cannot fail to observe that art Is one of the 
means of intercourse between man and man. — 
{What is Art, 40.) 

I began to write on art fifteen years ago, think- 
ing that when once I undertook the task I should 
be able to accomplish it without a break. It 
proved, however, that my views on the matter 
were then so far from clear that I could not ar- 
range them in a way that satisfied me. From that 
time I have never ceased to think on the subject, 
and I have recommenced to write on it six or 
seven times; but each time, after writing a con- 
siderable part of it, I have found myself unable to 
bring the work to a satisfactory conclusion, and 
I have had to put it aside. — {JV. A., 173.) 

Art begins when one person, with the object of 
joining another or others to himself in one and 
the same feeling, expresses that feeling by certain 
external Indications. To take the simplest ex- 
ample : a boy, having experienced, let us say, fear 
on encountering a wolf, relates that encounter; 

192 



ART 193 

and, In order to call out in others the feeling he 
has experienced, describes himself, his condition 
before the encounter, the surroundings, the wood, 
his own light-heartedness and then the wolf's ap- 
pearance, its movements, the distance between 
himself and the wolf, etc. If only the boy when 
telling the story, again experiences the feelings he 
had lived through and infects the hearers and 
compels them to feel what the narrator had ex- 
perienced, all this is art. It is art even if the boy 
had not seen a wolf but had been afraid of one, and 
if, wishing to evoke In others the fear he had 
felt, he invented an encounter with a wolf, and 
recounted it so as to make his hearers share the 
feelings he experienced, either the fear of suffering 
or the attraction of enjoyment (whether In reality 
or In imagination) , expresses these feelings on can- 
vas or In marble so that others are Infected by 
them. And It Is also art If a man feels or Im- 
agines to himself feelings of delight, gladness, sor- 
row, despair, courage, or despondency, and the 
transition from one to another of these feelings, 
and expresses these feelings by sounds, so that 
the hearers are infected by them, and experience 
them as they were experienced by the composer. 

The feelings with which the artist Infects others 
may be most various — very strong or very weak, 
very Important or very Insignificant, very bad or 



194 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

very good: feelings of love for native land, self- 
devotion and submission to fate or to God ex- 
pressed in a drama, raptures of lovers described 
in a novel, feelings of voluptuousness expressed in 
a picture, courage expressed in a triumphal march, 
merriment evoked by a dance, humor evoked by a 
funny story, the feeling of quietness transmitted 
by an evening landscape or by a lullaby, or the 
feeling of admiration brought out by a beautiful 
arabesque — it Is all art. — {W, A., 42-43.) 

The artists of the Middle Ages, vitalized by the 
same source of feeling — religion — as the mass 
of the people, and transmitting, in architecture, 
sculpture, painting, music, poetry, or drama, the 
feelings and states of mind they experienced, were 
true artists; and their activity, founded on the 
highest conceptions accessible to their age and 
common to the entire people, though, for our times 
a mean art, was nevertheless, a true one, shared by 
the whole community. — {W, A., 49.) 

As soon as art became, not art for the whole 
people but for a rich class, it became a profession; 
as soon as it became a profession methods were 
devised to teach it; people who chose this profes- 
sion of art began to learn these methods, and thus 
professional schools sprang up : classes of rhetoric 
or literature in the public schools, academies for 
painting, conservatories for music, schools for 



ART 195 

dramatic art. ... In these schools art is 
taught ! But art is the transmission to others of a 
special feeling experienced by the artist. — (W. A., 
107.)^ 

Universal art arises only when some one of the 
people, having experienced a strong emotion, feels 
the necessity of transmitting it to others. The art 
of the rich class, on the other hand, arises not from 
the artist's inner impulse, but chiefly because peo- 
ple of the upper classes demand amusement and 
pay well for it. They demand from art the 
transmission of feelings that please them, and this 
demand artists try to meet. But It is a very dif- 
ficult task; for people of the wealthy classes, spend- 
ing their lives in idleness and luxury, desire to be 
continually diverted by art; and art, even the 
lowest, cannot be produced at will, but has to 
generate spontaneously in the artist's inner self. 
And therefore, to satisfy the demands of people 
of the upper classes, artists have had to devise 
methods of producing Imitations of art. And 
such methods have been devised. These are ( i ) 
borrowing, (2) imitating, (3) striking (effects), 
and (4) interesting. — {W, A,y 92.) 

It is often said that it is horrible and pitiful to 
see little acrobats putting their legs over their 
necks, but It Is not less pitiful to see children of 
ten giving concerts, and It Is still worse to sec 



196 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

schoolboys of ten who, as a preparation for liter- 
ary work, have learnt by heart the exceptions to 
the Latin grammar. These people not only grow 
physically and mentally deformed, but also morally 
deformed, and become incapable of doing anything 
really needed by man. Occupying in society the 
role of amusers of the rich, they lose their sense 
of human dignity, and develop in themselves such 
a passion for public applause that they are always 
a prey to an Inflated and unsatisfied vanity which 
grows in them to diseased dimensions, and they 
expend their mental strength in efforts to obtain 
satisfaction for this passion. And what is most 
tragic of all Is that these people who for the sake 
of art are spoilt for life, not only do not render 
service to this art, but, on the contrary, Inflict the 
greatest harm on It. They are taught in acade- 
mies, schools, and conservatories how to counter- 
feit art, and by learning this they so pervert them- 
selves that they quite lose the capacity to produce 
works of real art, and become purveyors of that 
counterfeit, or trivial, or depraved art which 
floods our society. — {W. A., 155.) 

Art, all art, has this characteristic, that it unites 
people. Every art causes those to whom the art- 
ist's feeling Is transmitted to unite in soul with 
the artist, and also with all who receive the same 
impression. — {W. A., 142.) 



ART 197 

In former times, when the highest religious per- 
ception united only some people (who, even if 
they formed a large society, were yet but one so- 
ciety surrounded by others — Jews, or Athenian 
or Roman citizens) , the feelings transmitted by the 
art of that time flowed from a desire for the might, 
greatness, glory, and prosperity of that society, 
and the heroes of art might be people who con- 
tributed to that prosperity by strength, by craft, 
by fraud, or by cruelty (Ulysses, Jacob, Samson, 
Hercules, and all the Heroes). But the religious 
perception of our time does not select any one so- 
ciety of men; on the contrary, it demands the 
union of all — absolutely of all people without ex- 
ception — and above every other virtue it sets 
brotherly love to all men. And, therefore, the 
feelings transmitted by the art of our time not 
only cannot coincide with the feeling transmitted 
by former art, but must run counter to them. — 
{W, A., 140.) 

Sometimes people who are together are, if not 
hostile to one another, at least estranged in mood 
and feeling, till perchance a story, a performance, 
a picture, or even a building, but oftenest of all 
music unites them as by an electric flash, and, in 
place of their former isolation or even enmity, they 
are all conscious of union and mutual love. Each 
is glad that another feels what he feels; glad of 



198 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

the communion established, not only between him 
and all present, but also with all now living who 
will yet share the same impression ; and more than 
that, he feels the mysterious gladness of a com- 
munion which, reaching beyond the grave, unites 
us with all men of the past who have been moved 
by the same feelings, and with all men of the 
future who will yet be touched by them. And 
this effect is produced both by the religious art 
which transmits feelings of love to God and one's 
neighbor, and by universal art transmitting the 
very simplest feelings common to all men. — {W. 

^v 144.) 

Christian art either evokes in men those feelings 
which, through love of God and of one's neighbor, 
draw them to greater and even greater union, and 
make them ready for it and capable of such union ; 
or evokes in them those feelings which show them 
that they are already united in the joys and sor- 
rows of life. And therefore the Christian art of 
our time can be and is of two kinds : ( i ) art 
transmitting feelings flowing from a religious per- 
ception of man's position in the world in relation 
to God and to his neighbor — religious art in the 
limited meaning of the term; and (2) art trans- 
mitting the simplest feelings of common life, but 
such, always, as are accessible to all men in the 
whole world — the art of common life — the art 



ART 199 

of a people — universal art. Only these two 
kinds of art can be considered good art in our time. 
—{W. A., I44-S.) 

The old art, having no longer, in our day, any 
source in religious perception, has lost its meaning, 
and we shall have to abandon it whether we wish 
to or not. — (/F. A., 142.) The religious percep- 
tion of our time — which consists in acknowledg- 
ing that the aim of life (both collective and indi- 
vidual) is the union of mankind — is already so 
sufficiently distinct that people have now only to 
reject the false theory of beauty, according to 
which enjoyment is considered to be the purpose of 
art, and religious perception will naturally take its 
place as the guide of the art of our time. — {W. A., 

165-) 

All these people, artists, and public, and critics, 
with very few exceptions, have never (except In 
childhood and earliest youth, before hearing any 
discussions on art) experienced that simple feel- 
ing familiar to the plainest man and even to a 
child — which is at the very essence of art, that 
sense of infection with another's feeling — com- 
pelling us to joy in another's gladness, to sorrow 
at another's grief, and to mingle souls with an- 
other. And therefore these people not only can- 
not distinguish true works of art from counterfeits, 
but continually mistake for real art the worst and 



200 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

most artificial, while they do not even perceive 
works of real art, because the counterfeits are al- 
ways more ornate, while true art is modest. — 

(/F.A I3I-2-) 

Among the Greeks, art transmitting the feeling 
of beauty, strength, and courage (Hesiod, Homer, 
Phidias) was chosen, approved, and encouraged; 
while art transmitting feelings of rude sensuality, 
despondency, and effeminacy was condemned and 
despised. Among the Jews, art transmitting feel- 
ings of devotion and submission to their God and 
to his will (the epic of Genesis, the prophets, the 
Psalms) was chosen and encouraged, while art 
transmitting feelings of idolatry (the golden calf) 
was condemned and despised. All the rest of art- 
stories, songs, dances, ornamentation of houses, of 
utensils, and of clothes — which was not contrary 
to religious perception, was neither distinguished 
nor discussed. Thus has art been appraised al- 
ways and everywhere, in regard to its subject- 
matter, and thus it should be appraised, for this 
attitude towards art proceeds from the funda- 
mental characteristics of human nature, and those 
characteristics do not change. — {W. A., 137.) 

Art is not a handicraft; it is the transmission of 
feeling the artist has experienced. And sound 
feeling can only be engendered in a man when he 
is living on all its sides the life natural and proper 



ART 201 

to mankind. And therefore security of mainte- 
nance Is a condition most harmful to an artist's 
true productiveness, since It removes him from the 
condition natural to all men — that of struggle 
with nature for the maintenance of both his own 
life and that of others — and thus deprives him 
of opportunity and possibility to experience the 
most Important and natural feelings of man. 
There is no position more injurious to an artist's 
productiveness than that position of complete se- 
curity and luxury in which artists usually live in 
our society. — {W. A., 169.) 

As the evolution of knowledge proceeds by 
truer and more necessary knowledge dislodging 
and replacing what Is mistaken and unnecessary, 
so the evolution of feeling proceeds through art — 
feelings less kind and less needful for the well- 
being of mankind are replaced by others kinder 
and more needful for that end. That Is the pur- 
pose of art. And, speaking now of its subject- 
matter, the more art fulfills that purpose the better 
the art, and the less It fulfills It the worse the art. 

And the appraisement of feelings (f. e., the 
acknowledgment of these or those feelings as being 
more or less good, more or less necessary for the 
well-being of mankind) Is taken as the religious 
perception of the age. — {W. A., 136.) 

(When Tolstoy pronounces Shakespeare's 



202 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

dramas *' trivial and positively bad," most persons 
are inclined to think the verdict absurd or to put 
it down as another instance of what he wrote him- 
self, " Sometimes saying not quite what I think or 
feel — not that I do not wish to say it, but that 
I am unable and often exaggerate." But no one 
will lightly brush the verdict aside who reads his 
most amusing little book on Shakespeare and sees 
the vast research which forced him reluctantly to 
that conclusion. By his account of the story of 
King Lear, he makes that narrative as ridiculous 
as he does Wagner's Nibelung's Ring in the Ap- 
pendix to JVhat is Art? — Ed.) 

Shakespeare's characters are placed In tragic po- 
sitions which are impossible, do not flow from the 
course of events, are inappropriate to time and 
space and besides this, act in a way that is out of 
keeping with their definite characters and is quite 
arbitrary. — {Essay on Shakespeare, 52.) 

He " can't bear Shakespeare " — (M. L., 519) 
— he finds him undemocratic, lacking in sense of 
proportion, and that " his characters, except that 
of Falstaff, are eccentric, false, incoherent, and 
almost unintelligible." — {E. S.) 

The style of speech of every person natural to 
his character ... is absent from Shakes- 
peare. . . . The words of one of the per- 
sonages might be put in the mouth of another : for 



ART 203 

by the character of the speech it would be impossi- 
ble to distinguish the speaker. — {E. S., S^-) He 
does not grasp the natural character of the posi- 
tions of his personages, nor the language of the 
persons represented, nor the feeling of measure 
without which no work can be artistic. — {E, S,, 

96.) 

The subject of Shakespeare's pieces . . . 
the lowest, most vulgar view of life which regards 
the external elevation of the lords of the world 
as a genuine distinction, despises the crowd, i. e., 
the working classes — repudiates not only all reli- 
gions, but also all humanitarian strivings directed 
to the betterment of the existing order. — (E. S., 

93') 

The third and most important condition, sin- 
cerity, is completely absent in all Shakespeare's 
works. In all of them one sees intentional arti- 
fice: one sees that he is not in earnest, — {E, S., 

94-) 

Tolstoy, although his own art was, on the whole, 
kindly received by the critics, considers that pro- 
fessional criticism, called out like professional art, 
by the demands of the rich, is responsible for our 
false standards of greatness. 

He condemns the " rude savage '* works of the 
Greeks: "A half savage slave-holding people, 
who imitated the naked human body exceedingly 



204 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

well and made buildings pleasant to look at," but 
whose literary works are often without meaning 
to us. And with their dramatists — Sophocles, 
Euripides, iEschylus, Aristophanes, he groups 
Dante, Milton and Shakespeare, and of painters, 
Raphael, Michael Angelo " including his absurd 
* Last Judgment ' " — and also the composers. 
Bach and Beethoven. Later, however, he writes 
of " those pleasant, clear and strong musical im- 
pressions which are transmitted by the melodies of 
Bach's arias — and of Beethoven himself in his 
earlier period." — {W, A., 127.) He adds that 
he " considers the Ibsens, Maeterlincks, Verlalnes, 
In music the Wagners, LIszts, Berliozes, Brahmses 
and Richard Strausses as imitators followed by a 
crowd of worthless imitators of these imitators." 
— {W.A., 106.) 



CHAPTER VI 

SCIENCE 

Science and art are as closely bound together 
as the lungs and the heart, so that if one organ 
is vitiated the other cannot act rightly. True sci- 
ence investigates and brings to human perception 
such truths and such knowledge as the people of 
a given time and society consider most important. 
Art transmits these truths from the region of per- 
ception to the region of emotion. Therefore, if 
the path chosen by science be false so also will be 
the path taken by art. — {JV. A., 174.) 

As by the theory of art for art's sake it appears 
that occupation with all those things that please 
us — is art, so it appears that the theory of science 
for science's sake, the study of that which interests 
us — is science. So that one side of science, In- 
stead of studying how people should live in order 
to fulfill their mission in life, demonstrates the 
righteousness and immutability of the bad and 
false arrangements of Hfe which exist around us; 
while the other part, experimental science, occupies 

20S> 



2o6 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

Itself with questions of simple curiosity or with 
technical improvements. — {W, A., 176.) 

Books and sermons appear, demonstrating that 
church dogmas are antiquated and absurd, as well 
as the necessity of establishing a reasonable reli- 
gious perception suitable to our times, and all the 
theology that Is considered to be real science Is 
only engaged In refuting these works and in exer- 
cising intelligence again and again to find support 
and justification for superstitions long since out- 
lived, that have now become quite meaningless. 
Or a sermon appears showing that land should not 
be an object of private possession, and that the In- 
stitution of private property In land is a chief cause 
of the poverty of the masses. Apparently science, 
real science, should welcome such a sermon and 
draw further deductions from this position. But 
the science of our times does nothing of the kind: 
on the contrary, political economy demonstrates 
the opposite position, namely, that landed prop- 
erty, like every other form of property, must be 
more and more concentrated In the hands of a 
small number of owners. 

Again, in the same way, one would suppose it 
to be the business of real science to demonstrate 
the Irrationality, unprofitableness, and immorality 
of war and of executions; or the absurdity, harm- 
fulness, and Immorality of using narcotics or of 



SCIENCE 207 

eating animals; or the irrationality, harmfulness, 
and antlquatedness of patriotism. And such works 
exist, but are all considered unscientific; while 
works to prove that all these things ought to 
continue, and works intended to satisfy an Idle 
thirst for knowledge lacking any relation to hu- 
man life, are considered to be scientific. — {W. A., 

I79-) 

Certain Ideals are expressed not only In stupid, 
fashionable books, describing the world as It will 
be In 1,000 or 3,000 years' time, but also by so- 
ciologists who consider themselves serious men of 
science. These ideals are that food Instead of 
being obtained from the land by agriculture, will 
be prepared in laboratories by chemical means, and 
that human labor will be almost entirely super- 
seded by the utilization of natural forces. — 
And, meanwhile, it Is forgotten that nourishment 
with corn, vegetables, and fruit raised from the 
soil by one's own labor Is the pleasantest, health- 
iest, easiest, and most natural nourishment, and 
that the work of using one's muscles Is as necessary 
a condition of life as is the oxidation of the blood 
by breathing. — {W. A., 180-1.) 

Dr. E. A. Steiner asked, " But Isn't Socialism 
a preparation for an ideal State? " 

" No, Indeed not," answered Tolstoy. " It is 
just the contrary. It will regulate everything, 



2o8 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

put everything under law, It will destroy the Indi- 
vidual, It will enslave him. Socialism begins at 
the wrong end. You cannot organize anything 
until you have individuals. . . . Socialism 
begins to regulate the world away from Itself. 
You must make yourself right before the world 
around you can be made right. . . . The 
modern labor leader wishes to liberate the masses 
while he himself is a slave." 

The modern scientists need only tear themselves 
away from the psychological microscope under 
which they examine the objects of their study, and 
look about them, in order to see how insignificant 
is all that has afforded them such naive pride, all 
that knowledge not only of geometry of n-dimen- 
sions, spectrum analysis of the Milky Way, the 
form of atoms, dimensions of human skulls of the 
Stone Age, and similar trifles, but even our knowl- 
edge of micro-organism. X-rays, etc., In compari- 
son with such knowledge as we have thrown aside 
and handed over to the perversions of the pro- 
fessors of theology, jurisprudence, political econ- 
omy, financial science, etc. We need only look 
around us to perceive that the activity proper to 
real science is not the study of whatever happens 
to interest us, but the study of how man's life 
should be established — the study of those ques- 
tions of religion, morality, and social life, without 



SCIENCE 209 

the solution of which all our knowledge of nature 
will be harmful or insignificant. 

We are highly delighted and very proud that 
our science renders it possible to utilize the energy 
of a waterfall and make it work in factories, or 
that we have pierced tunnels through mountains, 
and so forth. But the pity of it is that we make 
the force of the waterfall labor, not for the benefit 
of the workmen, but to enrich capitalists who pro- 
duce articles of luxury or weapons of man-destroy- 
ing war. The same dynamite with which we blast 
the mountains to pierce tunnels, we use for wars, 
from which latter we not only do not intend to 
abstain, but which we consider inevitable, and for 
which we unceasingly prepare. 

If we are now able to inoculate preventatively 
with diphtheritic microbes, to find a needle In a 
body by means of X-rays, to straighten a hunched- 
back, cure syphilis, and perform wonderful opera- 
tions, we should not be proud of these acquisitions 
either (even were they all established beyond dis- 
pute) if we fully understood the true purpose of 
real science. If but one-tenth of the efforts now 
spent on objects of pure curiosity or of merely 
practical application were expended on real science 
organizing the life of man, more than half the 
people now sick would not have the Illnesses from 
which a small minority of them are now cured In 



2IO WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

hospitals. There would be no poor-blooded and 
deformed children growing up in factories, no 
death-rates, as now, of fifty per cent, among chil- 
dren, no deterioration of whole generations, no 
prostitution, no syphilis, and no murdering of hun- 
dreds of thousands in wars, nor those horrors of 
folly and of misery which our present science con- 
siders a necessary condition of human life. — {W, 
A., 177-8.) 

But science, true science — such science as would 
really deserve the respect which is now claimed by 
the followers of one (the least important) part of 
science — is not at all such as this : real science lies 
in knowing what we should and what we should 
not believe, in knowing how the associated life of 
man should and should not be constituted; how to 
treat sexual relations, how to educate children, 
how to use the land, how to cultivate it oneself 
without oppressing other people, how to treat for- 
eigners, how to treat animals, and much more that 
is important for the life of man. Such has true 
science ever been and such it should be. And sci- 
ence is springing up in our time. ... — 
{W. A., 178.) 

The great majority of men in our times lack 
good and sufficient food (as well as dwellings and 
clothes and all the first necessaries of life) . And 



SCIENCE 211 

this great majority of men is compelled, to the in- 
jury of its well-being, to labor continually beyond 
Its strength. Both these evils can easily be re- 
moved by abolishing mutual strife, luxury, and 
the unrighteous distribution of wealth, in a word 
by the abolition of a false and harmful order and 
the establishment of a reasonable, human manner 
of life. But science considers the existing order 
of things to be as Immutable as the movements of 
the planets, and therefore assumes that the pur- 
pose of science Is — not to elucidate the falseness 
of this order and to arrange a new, reasonable way 
of life — but, under the existing order of things, 
to feed everybody and enable all to be as Idle as 
are the ruling classes, who live a depraved life. — 
{W.A,, 1 80.) 

Art is not a pleasure, a solace, or an amusement; 
art Is a great matter. Art Is an organ of human 
life, transmitting man's reasonable perception Into 
feeling. In our age the common religious per- 
ception of man Is the consciousness of the brother- 
hood of man — we know that the well-being of 
man lies In union with his fellow-men. True sci- 
ence should Indicate the various methods of apply- 
ing this consciousness to life. Art should trans- 
form this perception into feeling. — {W. A., 183.) 

Possibly, In the future, science may reveal to art 



212 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

yet newer and higher ideals, which art may realize; 
but, in our time, the destiny of art is clear and 
definite. The task for Christian art is to establish 
brotherly union among men. — {W. A,, 184.) 



CHAPTER VII 

WHAT, THEN, MUST WE DO? 

In What to Do, written In 1882, Is the prac- 
tical summing up of Tolstoy's teaching, the sum- 
ming up of what set him to make shoes and to 
produce with his hands things that people need. 
He writes in a letter, 1879: 

" I should very much like to be firmly convinced 
that I give people more than I take from them — 
I do not hope by simply Intensifying my labor and 
choosing what Is most difficult to assure myself 
that their account with me does not land them In 
a loss (I am sure to tell myself that the work I 
like is the most necessary and difficult). There- 
fore I wish to take as little from others as possible 
and to work as much as possible for the satisfac- 
tion of my own needs; and I think that Is the 
easiest way to avoid making a mistake." — (L. T., 

10.) 

It is not enough to tend a man, to feed and teach 
him Greek; we must teach the man how to live — 
that Is, to take as little as possible from others, and 

213 



214 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

to give as much as possible; but if we take him 
into our houses, or into an institution founded for 
this purpose, we cannot help teaching him to do 
the contrary. We must express genuine love by 
" getting off the backs of the poor," by becoming 
*' producers instead of parasites." — {W, D,, 70.) 

Says Maude: "When in 1909 I told Tolstoy 
of the Minority Report of the (English) Poor 
Law Commission he was by no means sympathetic 
toward it, remarking that * If you are going to 
do so much for your poor, you must have robbed 
them pretty thoroughly first.* — (M. L., 147.) 

A great many children in the Rzhanof house 
were in most wretched conditions; there were the 
children of prostitutes, there were orphans, there 
were children who were carried about the streets by 
beggars. They were all very pitiful. But my ex- 
periment with Serozha [a destitute lad whom 
Tolstoy tried to domesticate. — Ed.] showed me 
that I, living the life I did, was not in a position 
to help them. While Serozha was living with us, 
I detected in myself a desire to hide our life from 
him, and especially the life of our children. I felt 
that all my efforts to direct him towards a good, 
industrious life, were counteracted by the examples 
of our lives and by that of our children.^ 

^ An amusing instance of the same thing among our- 
selves, was where a benevolent lady who had a fine resi- 



WHAT, THEN, MUST WE DO? 2151 

It Is very easy to take a child away from a pros- 
titute, or from a beggar. It Is very easy, when 
one has money, to have him washed, cleaned and 
dressed In good clothes, fed up, and even taught 
various sciences; but for us who do not earn our 
own bread. It Is not only difficult to teach him to 
earn his bread, but It Is Impossible, because by our 
example, and even by those material Improvements 
of his life which cost us nothing, we teach the op- 
posite. — {W, D., 69-70.) (Arrangement of 
words changed. — Ed.) 

Why were there so many of these poor here In 
the city? and In what did their peculiarity, as op- 
posed to the country poor, consist? There was 
one and the same answer to both questions. There 
were a great many of them here, because here all 
those people who have no means of subsistence In 
the country collect around the rich ; and their pecul- 
iarity lies In this, that they are not people who have 

dence on the Hudson took some working girls there for 
an outing on her lawn. 

When they saw the great house, they said "Gracious! 
What a big house ! How many people live there ? " 

The lady said, " I w^as ashamed to tell them that only 
my mother and myself lived there, so I counted up the 
servants, and told them that there were seventeen. They 
said * My ! What a big house for only seventeen peo- 
ple.' "— (Ed.) 



2i6 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

come from the country to support themselves in the 
city (if there are any city paupers, those who have 
been born here, and whose fathers were born here, 
then those fathers came hither for the purpose of 
earning their hvehhood). What is the meaning 
of this: to earn one's hvelihood in the city? In 
the words " to earn one's hvehhood in the city," 
there is something strange, resembhng a jest, when 
you reflect on their significance. How is it that 
people go from the country — that is to say, from 
the places where there are forests, meadows, grain, 
and cattle, where all the wealth of the earth lies — 
to earn their livelihood in a place where there are 
neither trees, nor grass, nor even land, but only 
stones and dust? — (/F. D., 91.) 

Everywhere, throughout the whole of Russia, — 
yes, and not in Russia alone, I think, but through- 
out the whole world — the same thing goes on. 
The wealth of the rustic producers passes into the 
hands of traders, landed proprietors, officials, and 
factory-owners; and the people who receive this 
wealth wish to enjoy it. But it Is only In the city 
that they can derive full enjoyment from this 
wealth. In the country, in the first place, it Is 
difficult to satisfy all the requirements of rich peo- 
ple, on account of the sparseness of the population; 
banks, shops, hotels, every sort of artisan, and all 
sorts of social diversions, do not exist there. In 



WHAT, THEN, MUST WE DO? 217 

the second place, one of the chief pleasures pro- 
cured by wealth — vanity, the desire to astonish 
and outshine other people — is difficult to satisfy 
in the country; and this, again, on account of the 
lack of inhabitants. In the country, there is no one 
to appreciate elegance, no one to be astonished. 
. . . And, in the third place, luxury is even 
disagreeable and dangerous in the country for the 
man possessed of a conscience and of fear. It is 
an awkward and delicate matter, in the country, 
to have baths of milk, or to feed your puppies on 
it, when directly beside you there are children who 
have no milk. — {W. D., 93-4.) 

Who am I, that I should desire to help others? 
I desire to help people; and I, rising at twelve 
o'clock after a game of vint with four candles, 
weak, exhausted, demanding the aid of hundreds 
of people — I go to the aid of whom? Of peo- 
ple who rise at five o'clock, who sleep on planks, 
who nourish themselves on bread and cabbage, 
who know how to plow, to reap, to wield the ax, 
to chop, to harness, to sew — of people who in 
strength and endurance, and skill and abstemious- 
ness, are a hundred times superior to me — and 
I go to their succor ! — (W, D., 122.) 

I have passed my whole life In this manner; 
I eat, I talk and I listen; I eat, I write or read, 
that is to say, I talk and listen again ; I eat, I play, 



2i8 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

I eat, again I talk and listen, I eat, and again I go 
to bed; and so each day I can do nothing else, and 
I understand how to do nothing else. And in 
order that I may be able to do this, it is necessary 
that the porter, the peasant, the cook, male or 
female, the footman, the coachman, and the laun- 
dress, should toil from morning till night. . . . 
And all these people work hard all day long and 
every day, so that I may be able to talk and eat 
and sleep. And I, this cripple of a man, have 
imagined that I could help others, and those the 
very people who support me! — {fF, D., 123.) 

And I had gone so far astray that this taking of 
thousands from the poor with one hand, and fling- 
ing of kopeks with the other, to those to whom 
the whim moved me to give, I called good. No 
wonder that I felt ashamed. — {fr. D., 116.) 

I became convinced, after experience, that money 
is not the representative of labor, but. In the ma- 
jority of cases, the representative of violence, or 
of especially complicated sharp practices founded 
on violence. Money is a new form of slavery 
which differs from the old form of slavery only in 
its impersonality, its annihilation of all humane 
relations with the slave. — (fV. D., 128-9.) 

We have become specialized. We have our 
particular functional activity. We are the brains 
of the people. They support us, and we have 



WHAT, THEN, MUST WE DO? 219 

undertaken to teach them. It Is only under this 
pretense that we have excused ourselves from work. 
But what have we taught them, and what are we 
now teaching them? . . . And we keep on 
diverting our minds with chatter, and we Instruct 
each other, and we console ourselves, and we have 
utterly forgotten them. — {W, D., 193.) Sci- 
ence and art have bestowed a great deal on man- 
kind, not because the men of art and science, 
under the pretext of a division of labor, live on 
other people, but in- spite of this. — {PF. D., 194.) 

Surely we have no justification for our privi- 
leged position. The priests had a right to their 
position : they declared that they taught the people 
life and salvation. But we have taken their place, 
and we do not instruct the people In life — we 
even admit that such instruction Is unnecessary — 
but we educate our children In the same Talmudic- 
Greek and Latin grammar, in order that they may 
be able to pursue the same life of parasites which 
we lead ourselves. — {fV. D., 224.) 

Had I asked, *' What am I, so corrupt a man, 
to do? " the answer would have been easy: " To 
strive, first of all, to support myself honestly; that 
is, to learn not to live upon others; and while I 
am learning, and when I have learned this, to ren- 
der aid on all possible occasions to the people, with 
my hands, and my feet, my brain, and my heart, 



220 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

and with everything to which the people should 
present a claim." — {W. D., 231.) 

Through a whole series of doubts and search- 
ings, I arrived, by a long course of thought, at this 
remarkable truth : if a man has eyes, it is that he 
may see with them; if he has ears, that he may 
hear; and feet, that he may walk; and hands and 
back, that he may labor; and that if a man will not 
employ those members for that purpose for which 
they are intended, it will be the worse for him. — 
(fV,D., 240.) 

What, then, will be the outcome of a few ec- 
centric individuals, or madmen, tilling the soil, 
making shoes, and so on, instead of smoking ciga- 
rettes, playing whist, and roaming about every- 
where to relieve their tedium, during the space of 
the ten leisure hours a day which every intellectual 
worker enjoys? This will be the outcome: that 
these madmen will show in action, that that imag- 
inary property for which men suffer, and for which 
they torment themselves and others, is not neces- 
sary for happiness; that it is oppressive, and that 
it is mere superstition; that property, true prop- 
erty, consists only in one's own head and hands; 
and that, in order to actually exploit this real prop- 
erty with profit and pleasure, it is necessary to 
reject the false conception of property outside 
one's own body, upon which we expend the best 



WHAT, THEN, MUST WE DO? 221 

efforts of our lives. — {W. D., 259.) This will 
happen — and it will be very speedily — when 
people of our set, and after them a vast majority, 
shall cease to think it disgraceful to pay visits in 
untanned boots, and not disgraceful to walk in 
overshoes past people who have no shoes at all; 
that it is disgraceful not to understand French, and 
not disgraceful not to have a starched shirt and 
clean clothes, and not disgraceful to go about in 
clean garments thereby showing one's idleness; 
that it is disgraceful to have dirty hands, and not 
disgraceful not to have hands with callouses. — 
(fV.D., 261.) 

As stated in the Bible, a law was given to the 
man and the woman, — to the man, the law of 
labor; to the woman, the law of bearing children. 
— {PF. D., 265.) 



CHAPTER VIII 

WOMEN AND MEN 

You women, alone, when you are simple and 
obedient to the will of God, know not that farcical 
pretense of labor which the men of our circle call 
work, and know the true labor Imposed by God 
on men, and know Its true rewards, the bliss which 
It confers. You know this, when, after the rap- 
tures of love, you await with emotion, apprehen- 
sion and terror that torturing state of pregnancy 
which renders you ailing for nine months, which 
brings you to Intolerable suffering and pain and to 
the verge of death. You know the conditions of 
true labor, when, with joy, you await the approach 
and the Increase of the most terrible torture, after 
which to you alone comes the bliss which you well 
know. You know this, when, immediately after 
this torture, without respite, without a break, you 
undertake another series of toll^ and sufferings, 
. . . and sometimes, nay, often, you do not 
sleep at all for a period of several nights in suc- 
cession, but with failing arms you walk alone, 
hushing the sick child who is breaking your heart. 

222 



WOMEN AND MEN 223 

And when you do all this, applauded by no one, 
and expecting no praises for it from anyone, nor 
any reward — when you do this, not as an heroic 
deed, but like the laborer in the Gospel when he 
came from the field, considering that you have 
done only that which was your duty, then you know 
what the false, pretentious labor of men performed 
for glory really is, and that true labor is fulfilling 
the will of God, whose command you feel in your 
heart.— (W, D., 269.) 

The woman of our circle has been, and still is, 
stronger than the man, not by virtue of her fasci- 
nation, not through her cleverness in performing 
the same pharisaical semblance of work as man, 
but because she has not stepped out from under 
the law that she should undergo that real labor, 
with danger to her life, with exertion to the last 
degree, from which the man of the wealthy classes 
has excused himself. — (/F. D., 267.) 

" Here ! you man," says the woman, " you have 
departed from your law of real labor, and you 
want us to bear the burden of our real labor. 
No, if this is to be so, we understand, as well as 
you do, how to perform those semblances of labor 
which you exercise in banks, ministries, universi- 
ties, and academies; we desire, like yourselves, 
under the pretext of the division of labor, to make 
use of the labor of others, and to live for the 



224 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

gratification of our caprices alone." — {W. D., 
266.) 

The calling of every individual, man or woman, 
consists in serving mankind. . . . The differ- 
ence between man and woman in the execution of 
this calling lies alone in the means which they em- 
ploy — that is, by which they serve mankind. 
. . . The service of mankind resolves itself 
Into two parts : 

1. The improvement of the lot of living men 
and women ; 

2. The reproduction of mankind itself. 

To the former men are chiefly called, since the 
possibility of the latter service is denied them. To 
the second women are called, as they are exclusively 
capacitated therefor. . . . The calling of 
man is more many-sided and broader, that of 
woman more uniform and restricted, but deeper. — 
(Essay, Man and Woman.) 

According to my view, she will be the Ideal 
woman who, after having assimilated the highest 
view of life of the age in which she lives, shall 
devote herself to her service as woman, to her 
Inexorably appointed calling of bearing, nursing 
and educating the greatest possible number of 
children who will be capable of serving mankind 
according to the view of life Imbibed from her. 
r — {Man and Woman.) 



WOMEN AND MEN 225 

How about those who have no children, who 
do not enter the married state, the widows ? They 
will do well to take part in the manifold labors of 
men. But it is deplorable that such a precious 
instrument as woman has been deprived of the 
possibility of fulfilling the one great deed pecul- 
iar to her, the more so as every woman, after 
having borne children, If she still has strength, 
will assist her husband In his work. The assist- 
ance of the woman In this work Is very precious. 

But to see a young woman, capable of bearing 
children, employed at men's work, will ever be 
deplorable. To see such a woman Is like the sight 
of rich loam that is covered with gravel for a place 
or a promenade. It is still more deplorable, as 
this soil could have produced only grain, while 
the woman could have produced that which is 
priceless and than which there Is nothing higher 
— man. 

And only she can accomplish that. — {Man and 
Woman.) 

Every woman — however magnificent her at- 
tire, though her cradle stood at the foot of the 
throne, though she had mastered all the wealth 
of science — who Indulges in sexual association, 
but frustrates the possibility of becoming a mother. 
Is a prostitute! 

Every other woman, how degraded soever, but 



226 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

who submits to her husband with the consciousness 
of the possibility of becoming a mother, fulfills 
the highest object of life: higher than she there 
is no one. Such women who fulfill their calling 
rule over the ruling men; such women prepare a 
new posterity and guide public opinion, and there- 
fore such women hold within their hands the high- 
est power for the redemption of mankind from 
the existing and impending evils of our time. 
Yes, you women who are mothers, in your hands 
above all rests the salvation of the world. — {The 
Mother.) 

It seems to me that marriage ought to take the 
following shape: the couple unite sexually under 
the irresistible force of the amorous instinct, the 
woman becomes pregnant, and the two live like 
brother and sister, avoiding everything that might 
prove detrimental to the birth and the nursing of 
the child, and suppressing instead of arousing, as 
is now done, all sexual temptation. . . . She 
bears her child in peace and suckles him, whereby 
she prospers morally, and only in the free period 
the couple renew for a few weeks their amorous re- 
lations, which are again followed by a period of 
rest. — (Second Supplement to Kreiitzer Sonata.) 

. . . To get married would not help the 
service of God and man, though it were done to 
perpetuate the human race. For that purpose. 



WOMEN AND MEN 227 

instead of getting married and producing fresh 
children, it would be much simpler to save and 
rear those millions of children who are now perish- 
ing around us for lack of food for their bodies, 
not to mention food for their souls. 

It may be possible to reject Christ's teaching — 
which permeates our whole life and on which all 
our morality is founded — but once that teaching 
is accepted, we cannot but admit that it points 
to the ideal of complete chastity. 

Only if he were sure all existing children were 
provided for could a Christian enter upon mar- 
riage without being conscious of a moral fall. 

Men and women must be trained, both by their 
parents and by public opinion, to look on falling 
in love and the accompanying sexual desire — 
whether before or after marriage — not as the 
poetic and elevated state it Is now considered to be, 
but as an animal state degrading to a human be- 
ing. And the breach of the promise of fidelity 
given at marriage should be dealt with by public 
opinion at least as severely as a breach of pecuni- 
ary obligation, or a business fraud, and should on 
no account be eulogized, as Is now done In novels, 
poems, songs, operas, etc. 

Chastity Is not a rule or precept, but an Ideal, 
or, rather, one condition of the ideal. But an 
ideal is an Ideal only when its accomplishment Is 



228 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

only possible In idea, in thought, when It appears 
attainable only In infinity, and when the possibility 
of approaching towards It is therefore Infinite. If 
the ideal were attained, or if we could even pic- 
ture its attainment by mankind, It would cease to 
be an ideal. — {Essays and Letters written 1888- 

1903-)^ 

During one of our rounds, a student told me 
of a woman in one of the lodgings, who traded 
In her thirteen-year-old daughter. Wishing to 
save the girl, I purposely went to that lodging. 
The mother, a small, dark, forty-year-old prosti- 
tute, was not merely ugly, but unpleasantly ugly. 
The daughter was equally unpleasant. To all 
my Indirect questions about their way of life, the 
mother replied briefly and with hostile distrust, 
evidently regarding me as an enemy. The 
daughter always glanced at her mother before she 
answered me, and evidently trusted her com- 
pletely. They did not evoke in me cordial pity 
— rather repulsion ; but yet I decided that it was 
necessary to save the daughter, and that I would 
speak to some ladles who take an Interest In the 
wretched position of such women, and would send 
them here. Had I but thought of the long, past 
life of that mother: of how she bore, nursed, and 
reared that daughter — In her position assuredly 
without the least help from others, and with 



WOMEN AND MEN 229 

heavy sacrifices — had I thought of the view that 
had formed In her mind, I should have understood 
that In her action there was absolutely nothing bad 
or Immoral. She had done, and was doing, all 
she could for her daughter — that Is to say, just 
what she herself considered best. One might take 
the daughter from her mother by force, but one 
could not convince the mother that It was wrong 
of her to sell her daughter. To save her, one 
ought long ago to have saved her mother. One 
should have saved her from the view of life ap- 
proved by everybody, which allows a woman to 
live without marriage, that Is, without bearing 
children and without working, serving only as a 
satisfaction for sensuality. Had I thought of 
that, I should have understood that the majority of 
the ladies I wished to send here to save that girl, 
themselves Hve without bearing children and with- 
out work, serving merely to satisfy sensuality, and 
deliberately educate their daughters for such a life. 
One mother leads her daughter to the traktir, an- 
other takes hers to Court, or to a ball. But both 
share the same view of life: namely, that a woman 
should satisfy a man's lusts, and that for that 
service she should be fed, clothed, and cared for. 
How, then, can our ladles save that woman or 
her daughter? — (M. L., 13 1-2.) Andrew D. 
White reports In the Idle7' (July, 1901) a remark 



230 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

of Tolstoy's that " Women ought to have all 
rights except political ones. They are unfit to 
discharge political duties. Woman is not man's 
equal in the highest qualities: she is not so self- 
sacrificing as man. Men will at times sacrifice 
th-eir families for an idea; women will not." 



CHAPTER IX 

ALCOHOL AND TOBACCO 

What Is the true cause of the enormous con- 
sumption by men In every condition of life of 
stimulants and narcotics, such as brandy, wines, 
haschisch, opium, and several other less active 
products, such as morphine, ether, and other simi- 
lar substances? What Is the origin of this habit 
which men have formed? And why has this 
habit spread so rapidly, and taken such a fast hold 
on people of all classes and conditions, as well as 
on the savages whom the former have civilized? 
To what Is this indisputable fact to be attributed, 
that In places where brandy, wine and beer are un- 
known people consume opium, haschisch, etc., 
whilst the use of tobacco Is spread over the whole 
world? . . . 

The consumption of these products is incon- 
testably injurious In the highest degree, for It 
creates evils that cause the deaths of a greater 
number of human beings than are swept off by 
the most bloody wars and the most terrible epi- 
demics. Moreover, these men know it. Yes, 

231 



232 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

they know it so well that it is needless to attempt 
to give mor£ force to their arguments when they 
declare that they have taken to the habit simply 
to drive away cares, to regale themselves, or 
finally, because " they all do it." There must, 
however, be some other explanation of this 
singular phenomenon. 

During the period of conscious life a man has 
often occasion to distinguish in himself two beings 
absolutely distinct. The one is blind and sensual, 
the other enlightened and thoughtful. The 
former eats, drinks, reposes, and sleeps, refreshes 
itself, soothes itself like a machine that has been 
wound up for a specified time. The thoughtful 
and enlightened being, united to the sense being, 
never acts of its own accord; it only seeks to con- 
trol and appreciate the conduct of the sense-being, 
actively assisting the latter when it approves or 
remaining perfectly neutral in the contrary case. 

The thoughtful being, which manifests itself 
through that which we call conscience, indicates al- 
ways where the good and the evil are to be found, 
and we do not perceive it until the moment when 
we have strayed from the right direction. But 
as soon as we have committed an act that is con- 
trary to our conscience, the thinking being appears 
and Indicates the extent of the divergence be- 



ALCOHOL AND TOBACCO 233 

tween the good and the evil path. . . . Let 
us suppose for example, that the life of a man is 
not in accord with his conscience, and that this 
man does not possess the force necessary to re- 
establish that harmony. . . . The man who 
wishes to persevere in an evil course, in spite of 
the admonitions of his conscience, has decided to 
impoison, to paralyze completely, and for a given 
period, the organ through the intermediary of 
which the conscience is manifested. 

Men make use of these (divers narcotics and 
excitants) with a view to stifle the remorse of 
conscience after having committed an action which 
they condemn, or with a view to bring about a 
state of mind which renders them capable of act- 
ing contrary to the dictates of their consciences. 

Each of us knows by experience that his state 
of mind is modified after the absorption of alco- 
hol or of nicotine, and that what he would be 
ashamed of before imbibing this artificial stimulus 
would not trouble him afterwards. 

Every smoker may, if he chooses, experience 
the same sharply expressed desire to deaden his 
intellectual faculties at some critical moment of 
his life. 

To sum up, one cannot but see that the habit 
of taking stimulants, whether in small or large 
quantities, periodically or irregularly, both 



234 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

amongst the higher and the lower classes of so- 
ciety, proves the lulling of their consciences to rest 
in order to blind them to the flagrant disagree- 
ment which exists between modern life and the ex- 
igencies of the conscience. 

. . . The characteristic property which 
distinguishes tobacco from other narcotics, in ad- 
dition to the rapidity with which it deadens the 
mind, not to mention its pretended innocuousness, 
is the facility with which it can be carried about 
and used. 

. . . The evil effects produced by opium 
and haschisch, which we have heard more than 
once described, are, indeed, terrible. Terrible, 
too, are the effects of alcohol, which are every day 
to be observed in the case of inveterate drunkards. 
But more terrible still, beyond all comparison, as 
touching society as a whole, are the effects of the 
moderate absorption of spirits and tobacco. — {Es- 
say on Alcohol and Tobacco.) See also, "Why 
Do Men Stupefy Themselves? " 



CHAPTER X 

GOVERNMENT 

If we continue to live as we are now living, 
guided In our private lives, as well as in the life 
of separate States, by the sole desire of welfare for 
ourselves and for our State, and think to ensure 
this welfare by violence, as we do now, then it is 
perfectly evident that Inevitably increasing the 
means of violence of one against the other, and of 
State against State, we will, first, keep ruling 
more and more, transferring the major portion of 
our productiveness to armaments; and, second, by 
killing In mutual wars the best physically-de- 
veloped men, we will become more and more de- 
generate and morally depraved. . . . It Is 
becoming certain, not only to the mind, but also 
to the consciousness . . . that, by arming 
one's self more and more against each other and 
slaughtering each other In war, we, like spiders 
in a jar, can come to nothing else but the de- 
struction of each other. — {Bethink Yourselves.) 

" I regard not only the Russian Government, 
but all governments, as Intricate Institutions, sanc- 

23S 



236 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

tified by tradition and custom for the purpose of 
committing by violence and with impunity the most 
dreadful crimes of murder, robbery, intoxication, 
stultification, deprivation, exploitation of the peo- 
ple by the wealthy and powerful; and therefore I 
think that all efforts of those who wish to improve 
social life should be directed to the liberation of 
themselves from Governments, whose evil, and 
above all whose futility, is in our time becoming 
more and more obvious. This object Is, in my 
opinion, attainable by one, and only by one, 
unique means — the inner religiously moral per- 
fectioning of separate individuals." 

Every coercive Government is in its essence a 
great and unnecessary evil, and, therefore, the 
aim both of us Russians and of all men enslaved 
by Governments should not be to replace one form 
of Government by another, but to free ourselves 
from every Government — to abolish it. — (" Cri- 
sis in Russia " — London Times, Mar. ii, 1905.) 

If a man, whether slave or slave owner, really 
wishes to better not his position alone, but the 
position of people in general, he must not himself 
do those wrong things which enslave him and 
his brothers. 

And in order not to do the evil which produces 
misery for himself and for his brothers, he should, 
first of all, neither willingly nor under compulsion 



GOVERNMENT 237 

take any part In governmental activity, and should, 
therefore, be neither a soldier, nor a field-marshal, 
nor a minister of state, nor a tax collector, nor a 
witness, nor an alderman, nor a juryman, nor a 
Governor, nor a member of Parliament, nor In fact 
hold any office connected with violence. That is 
one thing. 

Secondly, such a man should not voluntarily pay 
taxes to governments, either directly or indirectly; 
nor should he accept money collected by taxes, 
either as salary, or as pension, or as a reward; nor 
should he make use of governmental institutions, 
supported by taxes collected by violence from the 
people. That Is the second thing. 

Thirdly, a man who desires not to promote his 
own well-being alone, but to better the position of 
people In general, should not appeal to govern- 
ment violence for the protection of his own pos- 
sessions In land or in other things, nor to defend 
him and his near ones; but should only possess land 
and all products of his own or other people's 
toil In so far as others do not claim them from him. 

It is quite true that It is difficult for a man of 
our times to stand aside from all participation 
in governmental violence. But the fact that not 
everyone can so arrange his life as not to par- 
ticipate in some degree in governmental violence 
does not at all show that it is not possible to free 



238 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

one's self from it more and movt.— (The Slavery 
Of Our Times, 1 71-173.) Slavery results from 
laws, laws are made by governments, and, there- 
fore, people can be freed from slavery only by 
the abolition of governments. But how can 
governments be abolished? All attempts to get 
rid of governments by violence have hitherto, al- 
ways and everywhere resulted only in this : that in 
place of the deposed governments new ones es- 
tablished themselves often more cruel than those 
they replaced. . . . All attempts to abolish 
slavery by violence are like extinguishing fire with 
fire, stopping water with water, or filling up one 
hole by digging another. 

Therefore, the means of escape from slavery, 
if such means exist, must be found, not in setting 
up fresh violence, but in abolishing whatever 
renders governmental violence possible. And the 
possibility of governmental violences, like every 
other violence perpetrated by a small number of 
people upon a larger number, has always depended, 
and still depends, simply on the fact that the small 
numbers are armed, while the larger number are 
unarmed, or that the small number are better 
armed than the large number. — (Slavery of Our 
Times, 147-9.) 

The liberal representatives of the Zemstvo, 
doctors, advocates, writers, students and a few 



GOVERNMENT 239 

thousand disaffected workingmen, torn from the 
people, who are now fighting In Russia against the 
government, and calling and regarding themselves 
as the representatives of the people — have no 
right to this claim. In the name of the people, 
these men present to the Government a demand 
for freedom of the Press, freedom of Conscience, 
freedom of assembly, for the separation of the 
Church from the State, for an eight-hour work- 
ing day, representation and so forth. But ask 
the people, the great mass, the hundred million 
of the peasantry, what they think about these 
demands, and the true people, the peasants, will 
be at a loss to answer, because these demands 
for liberty of the Press, liberty of assembly, for 
the separation of Church and State, even for an 
eight-hour working day, have no Interest for 
the great mass of the peasantry. 

They need nothing of this, they need some- 
thing else — that which they have been for long 
expecting and desiring, of which they are inces- 
santly thinking and talking, and about which there 
Is not one single word In all the Liberal peti- 
tions and speeches, and which is only incidentally 
alluded to in the revolutionary socialistic pro- 
grammes — they expect and desire one thing, the 
liberation of the land from the law of property, 
common ownership of the land. When they are 



240 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

no longer deprived of the land their children will 
not go to the factories, or if they do they will 
themselves settle their hours and wages. — {Crisis 
in Russia.) 



CHAPTER XI 

A GREAT INIQUITY 

(This history-making article, dated July, 1905, first 
appeared in the London Times of August i, 1905. We 
give the essence of the article verbatim as it appeared in 
the Times, for which it was translated from the Rus- 
sian by V. Tchertkoff (editor of the Free Age Press, 
Christchurch, Hants, England), and 1. F. H. It is ex- 
pressly declared to be free from copyright. — Ed.) 

Russia is living through an important time 
destined to have enormous results. One need only 
for a time free oneself from the idea which has 
taken root amongst our intellectuals, that the work 
now before Russia is the introduction into our 
country of those same forms of political life which 
have been introduced into Europe and America, 
and are supposed to insure the liberty and welfare 
of all the citizens — and to simply think of what 
is morally wrong in our life, in order to see quite 
clearly that the chief evil from which the whole 
of the Russian people are unceasingly and cruelly 
suffering cannot be removed by any political re- 
forms, just as it is not up to the present time re- 

241 



242 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

moved by any of the political reforms of Europe 
and America. This evil — the fundamental evil 
from which the Russian people, as well as the 
peoples of Europe and America, are suffering — 
is that the majority of the people are deprived 
of the indisputable natural right of every man 
to use a portion of the land on which he was born. 
It is sufficient to understand all the criminality, 
the sinfulness of the situation in this respect, in 
order to understand that until this atrocity, con- 
tinuously committed by the owners of the land, 
shall cease, no political reforms will give freedom 
and welfare to the people, but that, on the con- 
trary, only the emancipation of the majority of 
the people from that land-slavery in which they 
are now held can render political reforms, not a 
plaything and a tool for personal aims in the 
hands of politicians, but the real expression of 
the will of the people. 

The other day I was walking along the high- 
road to Tula. It was on the Saturday of Holy 
Week; the people were driving to market in lines 
of carts, with calves, hens, horses, cows (some of 
the cows were being conveyed in the carts, so 
starved were they). A young peasant was lead- 
ing a sleek, well-fed horse to sell. 

" Nice horse," said I. 



A GREAT INIQUITY 243 

" Couldn't be better," said he, thinking me a 
buyer. " Good for plowing and driving." 

"Then why do you sell it?" 

" I can't use it. I've only two allotments. I 
can manage them with one horse. I've kept them 
both over the winter, and I'm sorry enough for it. 
The cattle have eaten everything up, and we want 
money to pay the rent." 

"From whom do you rent?" 

" From Maria Ivanovna ; thanks be to her she 
let us have it. Otherwise it would have been the 
end of us." 

"What are the terms?" 

" She fleeces us of fourteen roubles. But where 
else can we go? So we take it." 

A woman passed driving along with a boy wear- 
ing a little cap. She knew me, clambered out, 
and offered me her boy for service. The boy is 
quite a tiny fellow with quick, intelligent eyes. 

" He looks small, but he can do everything," 
she says. 

" But why do you hire out such a little one? " 

" Well, sir, at least it'll be one mouth less to 
feed. I have four besides myself, and only one 
allotment. God knows, we've nothing to eat. 
They ask for bread and I've none to give them." 

With whomsoever one talks, all complain of 



244 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

their want and all similarly from one side or an- 
other come back to the sole reason. There is 
insufficient bread, and bread is insufficient because 
there is no land. 

" What is man? " says Henry George in one of 
his speeches. 

" In the first place, he is an animal, a land ani- 
mal who cannot live without land. All that man 
produces comes from the land; all productive labor, 
in the final analysis, consists in working up land, or 
materials drawn from land, into such forms as fit 
them for the satisfaction of human wants and de- 
sires. Why, man's very body is drawn from the 
land. Children of the soil, we come from the 
land, and to the land we must return. Take away 
from man all that belongs to the land, and what 
have you but a disembodied spirit? Therefore 
he who holds the land on which and from which 
another man must live is that man's master; and 
the man is his slave. The man who holds the 
land on which I must live can command me to 
life or to death just as absolutely as though I were 
his chattel. Talk about abolishing slavery — we 
have not abolished slavery; we have only abolished 
one rude form of it, chattel slavery. There is a 
deeper and more insidious form, a more cursed 
form yet before us to abolish, in this industrial 
slavery that makes a man a virtual slave, while 



A GREAT INIQUITY 245 

taunting him and mocking him In the name of 
freedom. 

" Did you ever think (says Henry George In 
another part of the same speech) of the utter ab- 
surdity and strangeness of the fact that all over 
the civilized world the working classes are the poor 
classes ? Think for a moment how it would strike 
a rational being who had never been on the earth 
before, If such an Intelligence could come down, 
and you were to explain to him how we live on 
earth, how houses and food and clothing and all 
the many things we need were all produced by 
work, would he not think that the working people 
would be the people who lived In the finest houses 
and had most of everything that work produces? 
Yet, whether you took him to London or Paris, 
or New York, or even to Burlington, he would find 
that those called the working people were the peo- 
ple who lived In the poorest houses." 

The same thing, I would add, takes place In a 
yet greater degree In the country. Idle people 
live In luxurious palaces. In spacious and fine 
abodes. The workers live In dark and dirty 
hovels. 

*' All this Is strange — just think of it. We 
naturally despise poverty, and It Is reasonable that 
we should. . . . Nature gives to labor, and 
to labor alone; there must be human work before 



246 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

any article of wealth can be produced; and in the 
natural state of things the man who toiled hon- 
estly and well would be the rich man, and he who 
did not work would be poor. We have so re- 
versed the order of nature that we are accustomed 
to think of the working man as a poor man. . . . 
The primary cause of this is that we compel those 
who work to pay others for permission to do so. 
You may buy a coat, a horse, a house; there you 
are paying the seller for labor exerted, for some- 
thing that he has produced, or that he has got 
from the man who did produce it; but when you 
pay a man for land, what are you paying him for? 
You are paying for something that no man has 
produced; you pay him for something that was 
here before man was, or for a value that was 
created, not by him individually, but by the com- 
munity of which you are a part." 

It is for this reason that the one who has seized 
the land and possesses it is rich, whereas he who 
cultivates it or works on its products is poor. 
" " We talk about over-production. How can 
there be such a thing as over-production while peo- 
ple want? All these things that are said to be 
over-produced are desired by many people. Why 
do they not get them? They do not get them be- 
cause they have not the means to buy them; not 
that they do not want them. Why have not they 



A GREAT INIQUITY 247 

the means to buy them? They earn too little. 
When the great mass of men have to work for 
an average of $1.40 a day, It Is no wonder that 
great quantities of goods cannot be sold. 

" Now, why Is It that men have to work for such 
low wages? Because if they were to demand 
higher wages there are plenty of unemployed men 
ready to step Into their places. It Is this mass 
of unemployed men who compel that fierce compe- 
tition that drives wages down to the point of bare 
subsistence. Why is it that there are men who 
cannot get employment? Did you ever think 
what a strange thing it Is that men cannot find em- 
ployment? Adam had no difficulty In finding em- 
ployment, neither had Robinson Crusoe; the find- 
ing of employment was the last thing that troubled 
them. 

" If men cannot find an employer, why cannot 
they employ themselves? Simply because they are 
shut out from the element on which human labor 
can alone be exerted. Men are compelled to com- 
pete with each other for the wages of an em- 
ployer, because they have been robbed of the 
natural opportunities of employing themselves; be- 
cause they cannot find a piece of God's world on 
which to work without paying some other human 
creature for the privilege. 

" Men pray to the Almighty to relieve poverty. 



248 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

But poverty comes not from God's laws — it is 
blasphemy of the worst kind to say that ; it comes 
from man's injustice to his fellows. Supposing 
the Almighty were to hear the prayer, how could 
He carry out the request so long as His laws are 
what they are? Consider, the Almighty gives 
us nothing of the things that constitute wealth; 
He merely gives us the raw material, which must 
be utilized by men to produce w^ealth. Does He 
not give us enough of that now? How could He 
relieve poverty even if He were to give us more? 
Supposing in answer to these prayers He were to 
increase the power of the sun, or the virtue of the 
soil? Supposing He were to make plants more 
prolific, or animals to produce after their kind 
more abundantly? Who would get the benefit of 
it? Take a country where land is completely 
monopolized, as it is in most of the civilized coun- 
tries, who would get the benefit of it? Simply the 
landowners. And even if God in answer to prayer 
were to send down out of the heavens those things 
that men require, who would get the benefit? 

" In the Old Testament we are told that when 
the Israelites journeyed through the desert they 
were hungered, and that God sent manna down out 
of the heavens. There was enough for all of 
them, and they all took it and were relieved. But 
supposing that the desert had been held as private 



A GREAT INIQUITY 249 

property, as the soil of Great Britain is held, as 
the soil even of our new States is being held; sup- 
pose that one of the Israelites had a square mile, 
and another one had 20 square miles, and another 
one had 100 square miles, and the great majority 
of the Israelites did not have enough to set the 
soles of their feet upon which they could call their 
own — what would become of the manna ? What 
good would it have done to the majority? Not a 
whit. Though God had sent down manna enough 
for all, that manna would have been the property 
of the landholders, they would have employed 
some of the others perhaps to gather It up into 
heaps for them, and would have sold it to their 
hungry brethren. Consider It; this purchase and 
sale of manna might have gone on until the 
majority of Israelites had given all they had, even 
to the clothes off their backs. What then? Then 
they would not have had anything to buy manna 
with, and the consequences would have been that 
while they went hungry the manna would have 
lain In great heaps, and the landowners would have 
been complaining of the over-production of man- 
na. There would have been a great harvest of 
manna and hungry people, just precisely the phe- 
nomenon that we see to-day. 

" I do not mean to say that even after you had 
set right this fundamental Injustice there would 



250 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

not be many things to do ; but this I do mean to say, 
that our treatment of land lies at the bottom of all 
social questions. This I do mean to say, that, do 
what you please, reform as you may, you never 
can get rid of widespread poverty so long as the 
element on which and from which all men must 
live is made the private property of some men. It 
is utterly impossible. Reform government; get 
taxes down to the minimum; build railroads; in- 
stitute cooperative stores; divide profits, if you 
choose, between employers and employed — and 
what will be the result? The result will be that 
the land will increase in value — that will be the 
result — that and nothing else. Experience shows 
this. Do not all improvements simply increase the 
value of land — the price that some must pay 
others for the privilege of living?" 

The same, I shall add, do we unceasingly see in 
Russia. All landowners complain of the unprofit- 
ableness and expense of their estates, whilst the 
price of the land is continually rising. It cannot 
but rise, since the population is increasing and land 
is a question of life and death for this popula- 
tion. 

And therefore, the people surrender everything 
they can, not only their labor, but even their lives, 
for the land which is being withheld from them. 

There used to be cannibalism and human sacrl- 



A GREAT INIQUITY 251 

fices; there used to be religious prostitution and the 
murder of weak children and of girls; there used 
to be bloody revenge and the slaughter of whole 
populations, judicial tortures, quarterings, burn- 
ings at the stake, the lash; and there have been, 
within our memory, " running the gauntlet " and 
slavery, which have also disappeared. But if we 
have outlived these dreadful customs and institu- 
tions, this does not prove that institutions and cus- 
toms do not exist amongst us which have become as 
abhorrent to enlightened reason and conscience as 
those which have in their time been abolished and 
have become for us only a dreadful remembrance. 
The way of human perfecting is endless, and at 
every moment of historical life there are super- 
stitions, deceits, pernicious and evil institutions 
already outlived by men and belonging to the 
past; there are others which appear to us In 
the far mists of the future; and there are some 
which we are now living through and whose over- 
living forms the object of our life. Such In our 
time Is capital punishment and all punishment In 
general. Such is prostitution, such is flesh eating, 
such Is the work of militarism, war, and such Is 
the nearest and most obvious evil, private property 
In land. 

The evil and injustice of private property In land 
have been pointed out a thousand years ago by the 



252 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

prophets and sages of old. Later progressive 
thinkers of Europe have been oftener and oftener 
pointing it out. With special clearness did the 
workers of the French Revolution do so. In lat- 
ter days, owing to the increase of the population 
and the seizure by the rich of a great quantity of 
previously free land, also owing to general en- 
lightenment and the spread of humanitarianism, 
this injustice has become so obvious that not only 
the progressive, but even the most average people 
cannot help seeing and feeling It. But men, es- 
pecially those who profit by the advantages of 
landed property — the owners themselves, as well 
as those whose interests are connected with this in- 
stitution — are so accustomed to this order of 
things, they have for so long profited by It, have so 
much depended upon it, that often they themselves 
do not see its Injustice, and they use all possible 
means to conceal from themselves and others the 
truth which is disclosing Itself more and more 
clearly, and to crush, extinguish, and distort it, or, 
if these do not succeed, to hush It up. 

But what has happened ? Notwithstanding that 
at the time of their appearance the English writ- 
ings of Henry George spread very quickly in the 
Anglo-Saxon world, and did not fail to be ap- 
preciated to the full extent of their great merit, It 
very soon appeared that In England, and even in 



A GREAT INIQUITY 253 

Ireland, where the crying injustice of private 
landed property is particularly manifest, the ma- 
jority of the most influential educated people, not- 
withstanding the conclusiveness of Henry George's 
arguments and the practicability of the remedy he 
proposes, opposed his teaching. Radical agita- 
tors like Parnell, who at first sympathized with 
George's scheme, very soon shrank from it, re- 
garding political reforms as more important. In 
England almost all the aristocrats were against It, 
also, amongst others, the famous Toynbee, Glad- 
stone, and Herbert Spencer — that Spencer who In 
his " Social Statics " at first most categorically as- 
serted the injustice of landed property, and then, 
renouncing this view of his, bought up the old edi- 
tions of his writings in order to eliminate from 
them all that he had said concerning the injustice 
of landed property. 

The chief weapon against the teaching of Henry 
George was that which is always used against Ir- 
refutable and self-evident truths. This method, 
which is still being applied In relation to George, 
was that of hushing up. This hushing up was 
effected so successfully that a member of the Eng- 
lish Parliament, Labouchere, could publicly say, 
without meeting any refutation, that " he was not 
such a visionary as Henry George. He did not 
propose to take the land from the landlords and 



254 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

rent it out again. What he was in favor of was 
putting a tax on land values.'' That is, whilst 
attributing to George what he could not possibly 
have said, Labouchere, by way of correcting these 
imaginary fantasies, suggested that which Henry 
George did indeed say. 

People do not argue with the teaching of George, 
they simply do not know it. And it is impossible 
to do otherwise with his teaching, for he who be- 
comes acquainted with it cannot but agree. 

Yet, notwithstanding all, the truth that land 
cannot be an object of property has become so 
elucidated by the very life of contemporary man- 
kind that in order to continue to retain a way of 
life in which private landed property is recognized 
there is only one means — not to think of it, to ig- 
nore the truth, and to occupy oneself with other ab- 
sorbing business. So, indeed, do the men of our 
time. 

Political workers of Europe and America oc- 
cupy themselves for the welfare of their nations in 
various matters : tariffs, colonies, income taxes, mili- 
tary and naval budgets, socialistic assemblies, 
unions, syndicates, the election of presidents, diplo- 
matic connections — by anything save the one 
thing without which there cannot be any true im- 
provement in the condition of the people — the re- 
establishment of the infringed right of all men to 



A GREAT INIQUITY 255 

use the land. Although In the depth of their 
souls political workers of the Christian world feel 
— cannot but feel — that all their activity, the 
commercial strife with which they are occupied, 
as well as the military strife in which they put 
all their energies — can lead to nothing but a 
general exhaustion of the strength of nations; still 
they, without looking forward, give themselves up 
to the demand of the minute, and, as if with the 
one desire to forget themselves, continue to turn 
round and round In an enchanted circle out of 
which there is no Issue. 

However strange this temporary blindness of the 
political workers of Europe and America, it can be 
explained by the fact that in Europe and America 
people have already gone so far along a wrong 
road that the majority of their population Is al- 
ready torn from the land (in America It has never 
lived on the rural land) and lives either In fac- 
tories or by hired agricultural labor, and desires 
and demands only one thing — the Improvement 
of Its position as hired laborers. It is therefore 
comprehensible that to the political workers of 
Europe and America — listening to the demands 
of the majority — it may seem that the chief means 
for the Improvement of the position of the peo- 
ple consists in tariffs, trusts, and colonies, but 
to the Russian people In Russia, where the agri- 



256 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

cultural population composes 80 per cent, of the 
whole nation, where all this people request only one 
thing — that opportunity be given them to re- 
main in this state — it would seem It should be 
clear that for the improvement of the position of 
the people something else is necessary. 

The people of Europe and America are in the 
position of a man who has gone so far along a 
road which at first appeared the right one, but 
which the further he goes the more it removes him 
from his object, that he is afraid of confessing his 
mistake. But the Russians are yet standing be- 
fore the turning of the path and can, according 
to the wise saying, " ask their way while yet on 
the road." 

If Russian political workers do speak about 
land abuse, which they for some reason call the 
" agrarian " question — probably thinking that 
this silly word will conceal the substance of the 
matter — they speak of it, not in the sense that 
private landed property is an evil which should be 
abolished, but in the sense that It is necessary 
in some way or other, by various patchings and 
palliatives, to plaster up, hush up, and pass over 
this essential, ancient, and cruel, this obvious and 
crying injustice, which is awaiting its turn for 
abolition not only in Russia, but in the whole world. 

People have driven a herd of cows, on the milk 



A GREAT INIQUITY 257 

products of which they are fed, into an enclosure. 
The cows have eaten up and trampled the forage 
in the enclosure, they are hungry, they have 
chewed one another's tails, they low and moan, 
imploring to be released from the enclosure and 
set free in the pastures. But the very men who 
feed themselves on the milk of these cows have 
set around the enclosure plantations of mint, of 
plants for dyeing purposes, and of tobacco; they 
have cultivated flowers, laid out a racecourse, a 
park, and a lawn tennis ground, and they do not 
let out the cows lest they spoil these arrange- 
ments. But the cows bellow, get thin, and the 
men begin to be afraid that the cows may cease to 
yield milk, and they Invent various means of im- 
proving the condition of these cows. They erect 
sheds over them, they introduce wet brushes for 
rubbing the cows, they gild their horns, alter the 
hour of milking, concern themselves with the hous- 
ing and treating of invalid and old cows, they 
invent new and improved methods of milking, 
they expect that some kind of wonderfully nutri- 
tious grass they have sown in the enclosure will 
grow up, they argue about these and many other 
varied matters, but they do not, cannot — without 
disturbing all they have arranged around the en- 
closure — do the only simple thing necessary for 
themselves as well as for the cows, take down the 



258 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

fence and grant the cows their natural freedom of 
using in plenty the pastures surrounding them. 

Acting thus, men act reasonably, but there Is 
an explanation of their action; they are sorry for 
the fate of all they have arranged around the en- 
closure. But what shall we call those people who 
have set nothing around the fence, but who, out of 
imitation of those who do not set free their cows, 
owing to what they had arranged around the en- 
closure, also keep their cows inside the fence, and 
assert that they do so for the welfare of the cows 
themselves? 

Precisely thus act those Russians, both Govern- 
mental and anti-Governmental, who arrange for 
the Russian people, unceasingly suffering from the 
want of land, every kind of European institution, 
forgetting and denying the chief thing : that which 
alone the Russian people requires — the liberation 
of the land from private property, the establish- 
ment of equal rights on the land for all men. 

The true bread-supporters of these European 
parasites are the laborers they do not see in India, 
Africa, Australia, and partly in Russia. But it is 
not so for us Russians; we have no colonies where 
slaves invisible to ourselves feed us for our manu- 
facturing produce. Our bread-winners, suffering, 
hungry, are always before our eyes, and we cannot 
transfer the burden of our Iniquitous life to dis- 



A GREAT INIQUITY 259 

tant colonies, that slaves invisible to us should 
feed us. Our sins are always before us. 

And behold, Instead of entering Into the needs 
of those who support us, Instead of hearing their 
cries and endeavoring to satisfy them, we, Instead 
of this, under pretext of serving them, also pre- 
pare, according to the European sample, socialistic 
organizations for the future, and In the present 
occupy ourselves with what amuses and distracts 
us, and appears to be directed to the welfare of 
the people out of whom we are squeezing their last 
strength In order to support us, their parasites. 

One need only enter Into the unceasing suffer- 
ings of millions of the people; the dying out from 
want of the aged, women, and children, and of 
the workers from excessive work and Insufficient 
food — one need only enter Into the servitude, the 
humiliations, all the useless expenditures of 
strength. Into the deprivations, Into all the horror 
of the needless calamities of the Russian rural 
population which all proceed from Insufficiency of 
land — in order that It should become quite clear 
that all such measures as the abolition of censor- 
ship, of arbitrary banishment, etc., which are being 
striven after by the pseudo-defenders of the people, 
even were they to be realized, would form only 
the most Insignificant drop in the ocean of that 
want from which the people are suffering. 



26o WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

There was a time when in the name of God 
and of true faith in Him men were destroyed, tor- 
tured, executed, beaten in scores and hundreds of 
thousands. We, from the height of our attain- 
ments, now look down upon the men who did these 
things. 

But we are wrong. Amongst us there are many 
such people, the difference lies only here — that 
those men of old did these things then in the name 
of God, and of His true service, whilst now those 
who commit the same evil amongst us do so in the 
name of " the people," " for the true service of 
the people." And as amongst the former there 
were men insanely self-convinced that they knew 
the truth, and there were others, hypocrites, taking 
up their position under the pretext of serving God, 
and there was a crowd without consideration fol- 
lowing the more dexterous and bold, so also now 
those who do evil in the name of serving the peo- 
ple consist of men Insanely self-convinced that they 
alone know the truth — of hypocrites and of the 
crowd. Much evil have the self-proclaimed serv- 
ants of God done in their time, thanks to the teach- 
ing which they called Theology, but the servants 
of the people, thanks to the teaching which they 
call Science, If they have done less evil, It is only 
because they have not yet had time to do It, but 
already on their conscience there lie rivers of blood 



A GREAT INIQUITY 261 

and great divisions and exasperation amongst 
men. 

Of all indispensable alterations of the forms of 
social life there is in the life of the world one which 
is most ripe, one without which not a single step 
forward In improvement in the life of men can be 
accomplished. The necessity of this alteration Is 
obvious to every man who is free from precon- 
ceived theories. This alteration is not the work 
of Russia alone, but of the whole world. All the 
calamities of mankind in our time are connected 
with this condition. 

[This Is perhaps an example of Tolstoy's gen- 
eral statements ; so broad as to seem absurd at first 
glance. But It Is clear that every Improvement In 
the condition of the earth, whether agricultural, 
mechanical, political, social, ethical, educational or 
even religious, must go eventually and mainly to 
the benefit of the owners of the earth. If, then, 
Tolstoy's idea is correct, that our land system Is the 
root of our economic evils; all the " Improve- 
ments " which go to make It less hideous, result In 
the main In strengthening the system. — Ed.] 

Without religion one cannot really love men, 
and without loving men one cannot know what they 
require, and what Is more, and what Is less neces- 
sary for them. Only those who are not religious, 
and therefore do not truly love, can Invent trifling. 



262 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

unimportant Improvements in the condition of the 
people without seeing that chief evil from which 
others are suffering, and which they themselves 
are partly producing. Only such people can 
preach more or less cleverly-constructed abstract 
theories supposed to render the people happy In the 
future, and not see the sufferings the people are 
bearing in the present and which demand Immedi- 
ate and practical alleviation. As it were, a man 
who has deprived a hungry man of his food Is 
giving him his counsel (and that of a very doubt- 
ful character) as to how he should get food in the 
future, without deeming it necessary immediately 
to share with him that part of his own abundance 
consisting of the food he has actually taken away 
from the man. 

Fortunately, great beneficial movements in hu- 
manity are accomplished not by parasites feeding 
on the life-blood of the people, whatever they may 
call themselves — Governments, Revolutionists, or 
Liberals — but by religious people — that Is, by 
people who are serious, simple, laborious, and who 
live not for their own profit, vanity, or ambition, 
and not for the attainment of external results, but 
for the fulfillment before God of their human vo- 
cation. 

Such men, and only such, by their noiseless but 
resolute activity, move mankind forward. Such 



A GREAT INIQUITY 263 

men will not, desiring to distinguish themselves in 
the eyes of others, invent this or that improvement 
in the condition of the people (there can be an end- 
less number of such improvements, and they are 
all insignificant if the chief thing is not done), but 
will endeavor to live in accordance with the law 
of God, with conscience, and in endeavoring to live 
so they will naturally come across the most obvious 
transgression of this law, and for themselves, and 
for others will search for the means of freeing 
themselves from it. 

" Great social reforms," says Mazzini, " always 
have been and will be the result of great religious 
movements." 

And such is the religious movement which is now 
pending for the Russian people, for all the Russian 
people, for the working classes deprived of land 
as well as, and especially for, the big, medium, 
and small landowners, and for all those hundreds 
of thousands of men who, although they do not 
directly possess land, yet occupy an advantageous 
position, thanks to the compulsory labor of the 
people who are deprived of land. 

This sin can be undone, not by political reform, 
nor socialistic schemes for the future, nor by revo- 
lutions in the present, and still less by philanthropic 
assistance or governmental organization for the 
purchase and distribution of land among the peas- 



264 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

ants. Such palliative measures only distract atten- 
tion from the essence of the problem and thus re- 
tard its solution. 

No artificial sacrifices are necessary, no concern 
about the people — there is only necessary the con- 
sciousness of this sin by all those who commit or 
participate in it, and the desire of freeing them- 
selves from it. 

It is only necessary that the undeniable truth 
which the best men of the people always knew and 
know — that the land cannot be the exclusive prop- 
erty of some, and that the non-admission to the 
land of those who are in need of it is a sin — that 
this truth should become generally recognized by 
all men; that people should become ashamed of 
retaining the land from those who want to feed 
themselves from it; that it should become a shame 
in any way to participate in this retention of the 
land from those who need it, a shame to possess 
land, a shame to profit by the labor of men com- 
pelled to work only because they have been de- 
prived of their legitimate right to the land. 

Possessing hundreds, thousands, scores of thou- 
sands of acres, trading in land, profiting one way 
or the other by landed property, and living luxuri- 
ously, thanks to the oppression of the people, possi- 
ble through this cruel and obvious injustice — to 
argue in various committees and assemblies about 



A GREAT INIQUITY 265 

the improvement of the conditions of the peasant's 
life without surrendering one's own exclusively ad- 
vantageous position growing from this Injustice, is 
not only an unkind but a detestable and evil thing, 
equally condemnable by common sense, honesty and 
Christianity. It Is necessary, not to invent cunning 
devices for the improvement of men deprived of 
their lawful right to the land, but to understand 
one's own sin In relation to them, and before all 
else to cease to participate in it, whatever this may 
cost. Only such moral activity of every man can 
and will contribute to the solution of the question 
now standing before humanity. 

The land question has at the present time 
reached such a state of ripeness as fifty years ago 
was reached by the question of serfdom. Exactly 
the same Is being repeated. As at that time men 
searched for the means of remedying the general 
uneasiness and dissatisfaction which were felt In 
society, and applied all kinds of external govern- 
mental means, but nothing helped nor could help 
whilst there remained the ripening and unsolved 
question of personal slavery, so also now no ex- 
ternal measures will help or can help until the ripe 
question of landed property be solved. As now 
measures are proposed for adding slices to the 
peasants' land, for the purchase of land by the aid 
of banks, etc., so then also palliative measures were 



266 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

proposed and enacted, material improvements, 
rules about three days' labor, and so forth. Even 
as now the owners of land talk about the injustice 
of putting a stop to their criminal ownership, so 
then people talked about the unlawfulness of de- 
priving owners of their serfs. As then the Church 
justified the serf right, so now that which occupies 
the place of the Church — Science — justifies 
landed property. Just as then slave owners, real- 
izing their sin more or less, endeavored in various 
ways without undoing it to mitigate it, and substi- 
tuted the payment of a ransom by the serfs for 
direct compulsory work for their masters and mod- 
erated their exactions from the peasants, so also 
now the more sensitive landowners, feeling their 
guilt, endeavor to redeem it by renting their land 
to the peasants on more lenient conditions, by 
selling it through the peasant banks, by arranging 
schools for the people, ridiculous houses of recrea- 
tion, magic-lantern lectures and theaters. 

The question will be solved, not by those who 
will endeavor to mitigate the evil or to invent 
alleviations for the people or to postpone the task 
of the future, but by those who will understand 
that, however one may mitigate a wrong, it re- 
mains a wrong, and that it is senseless to invent 
alleviations for a man we are torturing, and that 
one cannot postpone when people are suffering, 



A GREAT INIQUITY 267 

but should immediately take the best way of solv- 
ing the difficulty and immediately apply it in prac- 
tice. And the more should it be so that the 
method of solving the land problem has been elab- 
orated by Henry George to such a degree of per- 
fection that, under the existing State organization 
and compulsory taxation, it is impossible to invent 
any other better, more just, practical, and peaceful 
solution. 

" To beat down and cover up the truth that I 
have tried to-night to make clear to you [said 
Henry George], selfishness will call on ignorance. 
But it has in it the germinative force of truth, and 
the times are ripe for it. . . . The ground is 
plowed; the seed is set; the good tree will grow. 
So little now; only the eye of faith can see it." 

And I think Henry George is right, that the 
removal of the sin of landed property is near, 
that the movement called forth by Henry George 
was the last birth-throe, and that the birth is on 
the point of taking place; the liberation of men 
from the sufferings they have so long borne must 
now be realized. Besides this, I think (and I 
would like to contribute to this, in however small 
a measure) that the removal of this great universal 
sin — a removal which will form an epoch in the 
history of mankind — Is to be effected precisely by 
the Russian Slavonian people, who are, by their 



268 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

spiritual and economic character, predestined for 
this great universal task — that the Russian people 
should not become proletarians in imitation of the 
peoples of Europe and America, but, on the con- 
trary, that they should solve the land question at 
home by the abolition of landed property, and 
show other nations the way to a rational, free and 
happy life, outside industrial, factory, or capital- 
istic coercion and slavery — that in this lies their 
great historical calling. 



CHAPTER XII 

HUMAN RIGHTS 

(Tolstoy proclaimed the law of love as enunciated by 
Christ; the political rights as enunciated by Thomas Jef- 
ferson; the economic rights as announced by Henry 
George: the two latter as amplifications of the first; all 
being essential to man's earthly welfare. Tolstoy's 
philosophy was progressive. At first he saw that the law 
of love was necessary; then he recognized the necessity of 
equal political rights; next he recognized that without 
economic justice these remedies were futile, and he accord- 
ingly embraced the philosophy of Henry George, as evi- 
denced by the following article addressed to the Russian 
people. — Ed. ) 

A NUMBER of suggestions have been made as to 
how to divide, In the most just manner, all land 
among the workers, but of all these only the one 
made by the late Henry George appears to me to 
be practicable. 

The property right, Henry George wrote in his 
book about the single tax. Is founded not on hu- 
man laws, but on the laws of God. It Is undenla- 

269 



270 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

ble and absolute, and everyone who violates it, be 
it an individual or a nation, commits a theft. 

A man who catches a fish, who plants a tree, 
builds a house, constructs a machine, sews a dress 
or paints a picture, thereby becomes the owner of 
the results of his own efforts — he has the right 
to give them away, to sell them or to leave them 
to his heirs. As the land has not been created by 
us, and only serves as the temporary residence of 
changing generations of human beings, it is clear 
that nobody can own the exclusive right to possess 
land, and that the rights of all men to it are equal 
and inalienable. 

The right to own land is limited by the equal 
rights of all others, and this imposes upon the tem- 
porary possessor of land the duty to remun- 
erate society for the valuable privilege given him 
to use the land in his possession. 

When we impose a tax upon houses, crops, or 
money in any form, we take from members of so- 
ciety something which by right belongs to them, 
we violate the property right and commit a theft 
in the name of the law; while when we impose a 
tax upon land we take from members of society 
something which does not belong to them, but to 
society, and which cannot be given to them except 
at a detriment to others. We thus violate the 
laws of justice when we place a tax on labor or 



HUMAN RIGHTS 271 

the results of labor, and we also violate them if 
we do not levy a tax on land. 

Let us, therefore, decide to stop levying all 
taxes except the tax on the value of land, regard- 
less of the buildings erected or the improvements 
made on it, but only on the value which natural or 
social conditions give to it. 

If we place this single tax on land the results 
will be these : 

1. The tax will relieve us of the whole army 
of officials necessary to collect the present taxes, 
which will diminish the cost of government, at the 
same time making it more honest. It will rid us 
of all the taxes which lead to lying, to perjury, to 
frauds of all kinds. All land is visible, and can- 
not be hidden, and its value is fixed easier than 
that of any other property, and the single tax can 
be determined at less expense and less danger to 
public morals. 

2. It will to a great extent increase the pro- 
duction of wealth, doing away with the discourag- 
ing tax upon labor and thrift, and it will make the 
land more accessible to those who want to work 
or improve, as the proprietors, who do not work 
themselves, but speculate in its increasing value, 
will find it difficult to keep up such expensive prop- 
erty. The tax on labor, on the other hand, leads 
to the accumulation of immense fortunes in a few 



272 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

hands, and the increasing poverty of the masses. 
This unjust division of wealth on one side leads 
to the creation of one class of people who are idle 
and corrupt, because they are too rich, and the 
creation of another class of people who are too 
poor, and thus doubly delays the production of 
wealth. This unjust division of wealth creates on 
one side terrible millionaires, and on the other side 
vagrants, beggars, thieves, gamblers and social 
parasites of various kinds, and necessitates an enor- 
mous expense for officials to watch these — police- 
men, judges, prisons and other means which society 
uses in self-defense. 

The single tax is a remedy for all these evils. 

I do not mean to say that this tax will transform 
human nature, for that is not within the power of 
man, but it will create conditions under which hu- 
man nature will grow better instead of worse, as 
under the present conditions. It will make possi- 
ble an increase of wealth, of which it is hardly pos- 
sible to form an idea. It will make undeserved 
poverty impossible. It will do away with the de- 
moralizing struggle for a living. It will make it 
possible for men to be honest, just, reasonable and 
noble, if they desire to be so. It will prepare the 
soil for the coming of the epoch of justice, abun- 
dance, peace and happiness, which Christ told His 
disciples of. 



HUMAN RIGHTS 273 

Let us suppose that in a certain place all land 
belongs to two owners — one very rich, who lives 
far away, and another, not rich, living and working 
at home — and to a hundred of small peasants 
owning a few acres each. Besides these, there live 
on that place some scores of people who own no 
land — mechanics, merchants, and officials. 

Now let us suppose that the people of that com- 
munity, having arrived at the conclusion that the 
land Is common property, decide to dispose of 
the land according to their new conviction. 

What would they do ? Take all the land away 
from those who own it, and give everybody the 
right to take the land he desires? That could not 
be done, because there would be several people who 
would want the same ground, and this would lead 
to endless quarrels. To form one society and 
work all things In common would be difficult, be- 
cause some have carts, wagons, horses and cattle, 
^while others have none, and, besides, some people 
do not know how to till the soil, or are not strong 
enough. 

To divide all the land In equal parts, according 
to Its value, and allow one part to each Is very 
difficult, and this would, besides, be Impracticable, 
because the lazy and poor would lease their prop- 
erty to the rich for money, and these would soon 
again be In possession of it all. 



274 WHAT TOLSTOY TAUGHT 

The inhabitants of the community, therefore, 
decide to leave the land in the possession of those 
who own it, and to order each owner to pay into 
the common treasury money representing the reve- 
nue which had been decided on after appraising 
the value of the land, not according to the work 
or the improvements made on it, but to its quality 
and situation, and this money was to be divided 
equally among all. 

But as it was difficult first to take this money 
from all those who held the land, and then divide 
it equally among all the members of the community, 
and as these members, besides, paid money toward 
the public needs — schools, fire departments, roads, 
etc. — and as this money was always needed, they 
decided to use all the money derived from those 
who had the use of the land, for public needs. 

Having made this arrangement, the members of 
the community levied the tax for the use of land 
on the two large owners, and also on the small 
peasants, but no tax at all was imposed on those 
who held no land. 

This caused the one landowner who lived far 
away, and who derived little income from his prop- 
erty, to realize that it did not pay to hold on to 
land thus taxed, and he gave it up. The other 
large owner gave up part of his land, and kept 
only that part which produced more than the 



HUMAN RIGHTS 275 

amount of his tax. Those of the peasants who 
held small properties, and who had plenty of men, 
and not enough land, as well as some of those who 
held no land at all, but who desired to make a liv- 
ing by working the land, took up the land sur- 
rendered by its former owners. 

After that all the members of the community 
could live on the land and make a living from it, 
and all land passed into the hands of or remained 
with those who loved to work it, and who made it 
produce the most. The public institutions flour- 
ished and the wealth of the community increased, 
for there was more money than before for public 
needs; and the most important fact was that this 
change in the ownership of land took place without 
any discussions, quarrels, or discord, by the volun- 
tary surrender of the land by those who did not 
derive any profit from it. 

This is the project of Henry George, which, if 
tried here, would make Russia wealthy and happy, 
and which is practicable all over the world. 



3kl7 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: Dec. 2004 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN PAPER PRESERVATION 

1 1 1 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
(724) 779-2 m 









.'V 









'^1 














